A Family Matter
by LitRaptor42
Summary: In an AU where Dahlia Hawthorne successfully poisoned Phoenix Wright, Iris and Mia Fey team up to avenge their lovers. T for a little bit of smut and gore, but no OCs.
1. Strange Introductions

Yes, folks, I am once again de-noning myself. This began as a prompt on the PWKM, and as usual took off like crazy. Here's the kink, and the fill follows:

"AU. Dahlia got away with murdering Doug and then later successfully poisoned Phoenix. After that she disappeared. Iris is heartbroken because Phoenix is now in a coma, but has finally begun to feel something besides sadness and guilt toward her sister. During a visit to the hospital, she bumps into Mia. She manages to convince her that she's not Dahlia - maybe she recognizes her as a Fey, perhaps from her sister's or Bikini's descriptions or just from seeing her wearing a magatama. (and just avoids being eviscerated by Mia...heh.)

They agree to team up to find Dahlia and bring her to justice! Somehow."

* * *

><p>~* A Family Matter *~<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter One: Strange Introductions<strong>

Iris sat like a statue, dry-eyed, and gazed out the window. _I can only do this for so much longer before it really starts driving me mad_, she thought. _He wouldn't want that._

She imagined looking at herself from somewhere near the door: poised lightly on the edge of the chair, spine straight and shoulders back, the perfect image of composure. Her alabaster skin contrasted with her bright hair, which was still red, bleached and dyed to the color of Dahlia's: why should she give up her sister's life now? _I probably look_, thought Iris_, like a wax figure_.

Iris knew, more by instinct than by looking at the clock, that her allotted visiting time was coming to an end. She stood up, and with a little thrill of fear, wondered if she could say something to the man in the bed—or look at him. It had been two weeks since Dahlia had sent him into this everlasting sleep, and Iris hadn't looked at her lover's face since the first day. She would just walk in, find his hand, sit silently for a while, then leave. No one ever spoke to her, and she never talked to him. Then again, it was the terminal wing of a witness-protection facility, and most of the other visitors were the same.

Well, she was stopping into Kurain Village on the way back to Hazakura. Seeing the other nuns might distract her from the grief._ I'll have to do it sooner or later... it might as well be on a day like today,_ she thought. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and took a deep breath, then opened them and looked down at him.

Phoenix had always been lanky, but now he was so painfully thin that she could see the bones pressing against the skin on his temples, flanked by delicate blue veins. She'd expected it, of course: like a witch in a fairy tale, she'd felt his fingers growing thinner and thinner as the days went by. But she pressed a hand to her mouth at the sight, stifling a sob.

Her other hand went out, the fingers all but ready to gently trace the sharp lines of his jaw—to smooth the unruly hair from his forehead—God, he _hated_ his hair to be anywhere near his face—was it her imagination, or was it turning grey?—to draw her fingers down the length of his brows—

Iris pulled back the hand and covered her face, sobbing in earnest now. The image of his skeletal face remained in her mind, his eyes forever closed to the world and his breathing maintained by a machine. Dahlia had killed Phoenix, and Iris knew couldn't do anything to bring him back.

She let go his hand and fled.

* * *

><p>Mia seethed. She wasn't used to feeling so completely helpless. Defense attorneys, it was true, didn't have the access to crime scenes or witnesses that prosecutors did, and more than once she'd felt like banging her head off a wall in frustration.<p>

But this was ridiculous. Mia had offered to help the police force with the Ivy University investigation, and had repeatedly explained to the detectives that she'd been an attorney in the Fawles case last year. "I have absolutely no doubt that the two young men were killed by Dahlia Hawthorne," she argued. "After all, one dated her until about eight months ago, and the other had been dating her ever since!"

The lead detective merely raised an eyebrow and sighed. "Look, Miss Fey... you may not realize this is coming across as a personal vendetta of yours. Some of us knew Valerie Hawthorne, too, and we were real sorry to hear what happened to your co-worker."

"But I—"

He held up a firm hand, and Mia was smart enough to know when to shut up. "Miss Fey. The fact remains that we have no evidence tying Ms. Hawthorne to the recent incidents at Ivy University, besides her presence at the university and mere personal connections to the victims. If the second victim ever wakes up, we will certainly ask him about her: but until then, we cannot proceed without evidence. And until then, both of them will be referred to as _accident_ victims."

Mia gaped. "You mean—you mean one of them survived?"

"Yes," he said coolly. "The first accident victim was electrocuted, and but the second survived a severe poisoning. Unfortunately, like your friend last year, he is in no condition to be giving statements. He is in a very well-protected place until recovery. Now please, Miss Fey, leave this matter to the police. Don't contact us again unless you have hard evidence."

She couldn't have responded if she'd tried. _Like your friend last year_... she had almost left the police station by the time she realized what it meant. "Oh my God," she whispered aloud. Diego was still alive.

And that meant he had to be in the same witness-protection facility as the second young man, the one who had survived Dahlia. At first she had been exhilarated: my God, if he was still alive, that meant they could fight Dahlia, could team up again to catch her! Mia's heart practically stopped at the memory of his smile, and the imagined sensation of his arms around her. They'd had such a short time together, before...

Then the smile faded from her face, and a rush of nausea almost made her throw up. It had been eight months, and if he were still in 'no state to be making statements,' as the detective had put it. She didn't even want to imagine Diego's condition, if he were so badly off that he hadn't contacted her since then.

She'd already cried. Now, having coaxed Grossberg into revealing the only witness-protection hospital in the state, she sat in the front seat of the car (borrowed from her aunt) in the parking lot, absolutely seething. It was a wonder the plastic didn't melt off the steering wheel, she thought vaguely. But if she tried to walk through the front door, she would be asked for credentials and promptly arrested.

The front door to the facility open suddenly, and a young girl dashed out. Mia watched as the girl collapsed into a bench near the door, obviously trying to hide the fact that she was crying. As she sniffled, reaching into her purse for a tissue, Mia froze.

The next thing she knew, she had opened the car door, jumped out, slammed it behind her, and stalked over to where the girl sat. She seized Dahlia's arm, and barked, "Don't you _dare_ move, you little bitch! I'm calling for the police!"

It seemed like such a perfect, serendipitous twist of fate that she could hardly believe her luck. As she fumbled for her phone, the girl looked up, eyes horrified and hollow in her little face. Mia started: it wasn't Dahlia.

"Wh-what do you want?" cried the girl, and Mia reflexively let go of her arm. No, not Dahlia: the same little face, an identically thin body, and even the same braids in her red hair. But it wasn't Dahlia: Mia didn't even need the jeans and t-shirt to tell her that.

"I'm sorry," Mia said, feeling her lips go numb with shock. Who could the girl be? "I'm so sorry, I thought you were—um, someone else. Who are you?"

The fact that Mia probably had no right to ask the last question didn't occur to the girl. "Iris," she said, sniffling. "My name is Iris Fey."

Mia swallowed, feeling a little sick. "Did you say... Fey?" This had to be a dream. Someone with Dahlia's face... and Maya's voice.

"Mm-hmm," said the girl, nodding. "I'm... well, I was..." She looked bemused, and looked at Mia nervously. Then she stood up, dusting off her jeans and thrusting out her chin bravely, fists clenched. "Wait, I don't know why I said that. My name is Dahlia. D-Dahlia Hawthorne!"

A thrill of fear and doubt shot through Mia, although it was obvious that the girl lied. "If that's the case," she said through clenched teeth, "you're exactly who I'm looking for. And you killed my boyfriend."

Mia wasn't that tall, but she towered over the slender girl, who sank back onto the bench, eyes round. "Errr..." she said faintly. Obviously she had not expected this.

Mia sighed. This was getting nowhere fast. She didn't know _how_ she knew this wasn't Dahlia... but the girl had said Fey, after all. "Look, you said your name was Iris Fey. My name is Fey, too—I used to live in Kurain Village. My name is Mia."

If possible, it seemed like the girl shrank lower on the bench, her face going white. "You're... you know M-Morgan Fey?" she whispered.

"Yes, she's my aunt." Mia frowned. "Why do you ask?" She was tempted to ask _Why are you so terrified?_ but let it go, sitting down on the bench next to the girl.

The girl opened her mouth a few times, but seemed unable to answer, her eyes filled with a mysterious fear. Mia sighed. "Look... Dahlia Hawthorne is a cold-blooded killer, and what I said is true: she killed my boyfriend last August. Or... at least I thought she did. Apparently he's alive. But..." she waved her hands, certain it sounded like she was rambling. "You look just like her, but you're not. Were you... related?"

"Was that... Mr. Armando?" said the girl timidly, and Mia froze.

She had to take several deep breaths before she could manage to answer. "Yes. Yes, he's... in there." She jerked her head toward the facility. "How do you know that?"

"Wait," said the girl, sitting forward on the bench attentively. "Wait, you're... then you're Miss Fey! I know you just said that, but you're... you're the other attorney she hated so much."

Then, as if realizing what she'd just said, the girl plastered her hands over her faces, eyes bugging out. "Yes," said Mia, not sure if she wanted to laugh or cry. "Please, for God's sake—who are you?"

The girl swallowed and removed her hands, looking terrified, and whispered something, barely audible.

* * *

><p>The detective looked up, and sighed heavily at the sight of Mia. "Miss Fey," he said wearily as she approached the desk. "Please tell me you have hard evidence this time."<p>

"Will hearsay testimony do for now?" Mia demanded; the detective's eyes widened as Iris stepped forward.

"Miss Hawthorne! We've been—"

"My name," the young girl interrupted quietly, "is Iris Fey. I'm Dahlia Hawthorne's twin sister. And I'm here to share what she told me—about the murders of Diego Armando, Doug Swallow, and Phoenix Wright."


	2. Admissions and Disclosures

**Chapter Two: Admissions and Disclosures**

To Mia's disappointment, they weren't admitted to aid the prosecution team, but were simply briefed for information. The detective, leading them back into a conference room, admitted nothing. "We need help connecting the dots, is all," he said severely. "You can give us the information we need, in which case maybe we'll give you access to certain materials. But absolutely _do not_ go off on your own and start... I don't know, pretending you're detectives."

Mia had just stared at him, unable to believe that he was using a carrot-and-stick approach. They were _volunteering_ to help the prosecution's team, but he was worried about them interfering!

Iris remained much more calm about it. "I... I can help find her," she said in a tiny voice. She hesitated, but when Mia put a supportive hand on her am she continued, a little more strongly. "O-Over the past few months she moved around a lot, while I covered for her at the university. I can look through her letters and see if she mentioned anyplace she might have stayed."

The detective looked pained. "Miss Fey... I'm afraid that if you can prove your sister's whereabouts using her own writing, you'll be implicating yourself in a conspiracy for... well, I suppose at least the last two incidents."

There was a moment of silence. "That's fine," Iris said finally, quietly.

Mia was amazed. How could this girl, so calm and honest, be in any way related to Dahlia Hawthorne, much less be her twin sister? Mia also marveled at Iris's sacrifice, at having pretended to be that terrible girl for eight months now. At first it had sounded like a ludicrous story... but then Mia had remembered the look on Iris's face as she sat outside the facility, crying. She might look like Dahlia, but she, unlike her twin, could (and obviously did) fall in love.

"Miss Fey?" the detective said, then repeated, "Miss Fey?"

Mia suddenly realized he was talking to her, and mentally shook herself. "Yes?"

"I think we'll have to take your statements another day. The detective usually assigned to the Fawles case—you've probably met Detective Gumshoe—has been called over to the prosecution's offices to assist with another incident. I'd want to have him sit in on this."

He glanced sideways and added, "Perhaps, since you already know much of the case, we'll allow you access to see your former law partner."

The way the phrase rolled blandly from his tongue once again disguised his meaning, and he was already speaking to Iris again by the time Mia sucked in a breath of shock. She closed her eyes, saying a brief prayer of profound gratitude. The nausea was still there, making her imagine Diego's face terribly transformed, or things that could never be—but nothing could be worse, she told herself, than the fact that he'd been dead.

Perhaps there was some merit to the carrot-and-stick method, after all.

* * *

><p>They left the police station together, walking awkwardly side-by-side and exchanging meaningless pleasantries. Iris seemed to be everything Dahlia presented herself to be: sweet, utterly innocent, and caring. She only mentioned her lover once or twice, the other young student, but she was obviously madly in love with him. It made Mia think again of her own sister, so helplessly and adorably emotional.<p>

Suddenly, Mia could stand it no more. "Iris, please. Would you answer a question for me?" When she received a silent but polite nod in response, she said, "You know my aunt Morgan."

Iris hesitated, looking down at her feet. Finally, she answered, "No. No, I don't know her at all. But that's only a literal truth."

Mia had encountered people who skipped around the idea of the "whole truth" before, but had never been confronted by someone who admitted to leaving certain facts undisclosed. She narrowed her eyes. "So by that you mean, you know of her, but have no personal familiarity with her." She carefully considered, then added, "By the way, if you're terrified, don't worry. My aunt Morgan is a very intimidating person. In fact, she's the reason I left Kurain Village."

It was as if she'd said a magic word: Iris looked up at her, eyes brightening. "You actually lived in Kurain?"

"Yes," Mia answered, trying to keep her voice unsuspicious and light. Iris was clearly walking in the direction of the train station, and Mia would much rather unravel this mystery than head back to Mr. Grossberg's office alone. "For many years. My mother was... is... the Master of Kurain, Misty Fey. But she hasn't been in the village for many years." She laughed a little. "Neither have I... my sister's nuts about spirit channeling, and I'm more than happy to let her inherit the title, if it comes to that."

Iris remained silent, looking thoughtfully at the ground. Mia could hear birds singing—was it really that time of year already? Diego had taught her how to brew a perfect cup of coffee around this time last year, and she had been addicted to it ever since. She felt a craving now, the way some people said they craved cigarettes: she longed to warm her hands against the hot tumbler, her stress melting melt away as the caffeine entered her bloodstream.

At last Iris said, "Miss Fey—"

"Please, call me Mia."

Iris gulped audibly. "Er... Mia. Yes. Um..." She sighed, hands folded before her. "Do you mind if I don't tell you everything just yet? I lived in Hazakura Village most of my life, and am part of a Fey branch clan. I'm sure you understand how... strange... the relations between Hazakura and Kurain are..."

"Yes," Mia said, and immediately understood. Maya was set to be the next Master of the Kurain Tradition: and while Mia knew the head nun at Hazakura was a friendly sort, she was still part of the branch family. And everyone in the Kurain Tradition knew that branch families meant trouble, especially where Morgan Fey and her precious daughter were concerned. Mia loved little Pearly, but there was no denying that her very existence meant trouble for the clan. "Yes, I understand. Thank you for telling me."

Then she smiled, realizing. "We're probably cousins of some kind, Iris. Maybe I can take you to meet my sister!"

Iris made a mysterious little noise, somewhere between laughter and fear. "All right. I have been to Kurain, but... I have never met her. That would be nice."

* * *

><p>The detective in charge of the Fawles case interviewed her the next morning. Eager to solve the case and thankful for any help he could get, the detective—much more friendly than his boss—had promised to immediately escort her to the witness-protection facility just afterwards.<p>

He was true to his word, whisking her out the door and into his patrol car as soon as the deposition was signed. "If I may ask," Mia asked cautiously, as they walked up the sidewalk to the facility, "why was Iris here? I mean, the detective thought she was Dahlia at first."

He shrugged in embarrassment, his ears going red as he placed one large and gentle hand on her shoulder, urging her through the front doors. "Well... if you gotta ask, that was me." He paused, as if a bit frightened that he'd told her, and exclaimed, "Please don't tell the Detective, though! Miss Fey... er, the other Miss Fey... she sort of remembered me from the crime scene, and asked if she could see the victim. Victims, actually—she still thought the first one was alive."

"You mean Mr. Swallow?"

"Yup," said the detective glumly, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly and looking away. "I dunno how well I broke the news to her, but... I was doing something illegal anyway, so being tactful wasn't really on my mind, you know?"

Mia felt as if her chest would explode as she tried not to laugh and cry at the same time. She settled for putting a hand on his arm, and said softly, "I'm sure you did fine, Detective Gumshoe."

He looked down at her with a lopsided grin. "Thanks, Miss Fey. Um... sure there's no hard feelings...?" She just waited, until he shrugged helplessly, and bent to sign them in at the front desk. "You know, I guess I could have told you, too. That Mr. Armando was still alive."

Mia shook her head. "No, no hard feelings at all." She tried to sound cheerful even as her heart tried to thud its way into her shoes. "Dahlia might have tried again if she'd found out about him being alive, right?" She heard her own voice waver on _him_, and wondered how soon she would be able to speak Diego's name. Right now it felt like a jinx.

"Yeah," the detective said, obviously quite heartened. "Well, let's go in."


	3. Their Lovers

**Chapter Three: Their Lovers**

Mia had thought the visit would be much more traumatizing. After all, it had been eight months: and she even hated seeing strangers in the hospital. Seeing Diego could only be worse, the vision of his present illness fighting with memories of a healthy, vibrant, arrogant attorney.

But it wasn't that bad. Mia was aware of her own ability to see the good things before the bad, and had never been so grateful for that gift as when she walked into the room. Immediately she knew he would be all right: his slim hands still retained that casual grace she'd always remembered.

She walked to the bedside, feeling the blood rise to her face. His color was excellent, and she was glad to see he hadn't gotten pale in the past months, as so many patients did; he breathed regularly and serenely, looking for all the world as if he were sleeping at home. "You are fantastic," she murmured.

It was only then that she looked at his hair, gone stark white. _How does that happen?_ she wondered, but with more fascination than dismay. He would be so angry about it when he woke up: he'd been fiercely proud of that dark, leonine shock of hair. Strangely, his brows were still dark, and Mia could see the beginnings of a five o'clock shadow standing out against his coffee-and-cream skin. She reached out and traced one, wanting to weep tears of joy and excitement.

She knew she didn't have long; Iris would be escorted in soon, to visit her own young man, and had asked Mia to come along. But she reached down to take Diego's hand; warm and relaxed, its familiarity only increased the impression that he was just sleeping.

"What are you waiting for?" she asked in a whisper, half-mesmerized by the sight of him. Would a kiss from his true love break the spell?

She heard the double patter of footsteps in the hall behind her, and on impulse bent down to kiss him quickly. Nothing happened, of course—his lips were unresponsive, his breath soft and warm against her face. But as she straightened hastily, feeling like an absolute fool, she could swear that now there was the ghost of a smile on his face.

* * *

><p>"Miss F... er, Mia?" came Iris's hesitant voice.<p>

"Yes," she answered, glad to hear her voice sounding calm. It was so strange: she had expected to leave Diego's bedside either in a blank shock, or wiping away a torrent of tears. But she looked down one last time, squeezed his hand, and left the room. Iris looked at her curiously, as if surprisedly expecting hysteria.

Mia smiled at her, feeling peaceful and quite content. "Let's go. Thanks for finding me."

"You're welcome," was the quiet response. She followed Iris's slim form down the hallway; Mia hadn't known the girl long, but it seemed like she was tremendously nervous, her body tense and her shoulders very tight. Mia wanted to put a gentle hand on her shoulder, as if she were Maya. _Don't worry—it will be all right_, she wanted to say.

But as she trailed Iris into the next hospital room, Mia felt a simultaneous wash of guilt and sick gratitude—the first because she herself was so lucky, and the second because she hadn't said anything falsely comforting after all.

Her hastily smothered gasp must have escaped, since Iris—who had simply taken her boyfriend's hand and sat down—looked up, her expression changing from total neutrality to a tiny smile. "I know... it's a little shocking. I'm sorry."

"My God, don't apologize," Mia said, aghast, and walked around to the bedside. "Oh, Iris. You poor darlings."

The young man whose picture was shown in the newspaper had been tall and lanky, ruddy as a sunbeam, with a cheerful grin the size of Texas. Here she saw a ghost, so ethereal as to practically disappear into the sheets; his face and limbs were so skeletally thin that she barely recognized anything but his spiky eyebrows. Unlike Diego, he wasn't breathing on his own, and his skin was sickly white, with a paper-fragile appearance.

Suddenly, a bolt of joyful realization shot through her heart, a welling of pity and affection growing swiftly with it, and she bent down to gently kiss his forehead. "Iris... it hasn't even been three weeks, right?"

"Mm-hmm," was the listless response.

Mia reached all the way across the bed to grab Iris's hand, feeling the young man's chilly skin under both of their own. Iris looked up, obviously startled at Mia's excitement. "Iris, they must have been different poisons! Don't you see? I mean, something is wrong with Diego, that's for certain: but he's been here for eight months, and he's practically healthy and awake compared to— to your—" She struggled momentarily, blanking on the young man's name and unable to find a stronger word than _boyfriend_.

Then the bubble inside her burst, and she said fiercely, "This will do it, I'm sure! Their symptoms are totally different. And if your sister used two different poisons, it will be _so_ much easier to trace her, to maybe find someone who knows where she is!"

"Please don't call her my sister," Iris whispered, and Mia suddenly noticed how carefully she had been avoiding looking at the young man. She wondered if Iris had even worked up the emotion to cry over him yet.

She let go of Iris's hand and came around the side of the bed, putting her arms around the younger girl. Iris stiffened at first, but then she put her head into Mia's shoulder and began to cry.

"I'm sorry," Mia said again, wishing more than anything that Maya were here. Her own little sister always knew the right thing to say. "I can only guess how horrible this must be for you. But if we find out where... where Dahlia got the poisons, then maybe they can, I don't know, reverse-engineer an antidote or something."

Iris sniffled and lifted her head, finally looking over at her boyfriend. Mia could see the longing in her eyes, tempered by a strong doubt that anything could save him now. "Do... do you think so?"

"Of course," Mia said firmly, with much more confidence than she felt. "Come on. Let's go tell the detective: and then maybe I'll take you for dinner."


	4. Discoveries of All Kinds

**Chapter Four: Discoveries of All Kinds**

The discovery of two separate poisons did indeed prove useful, if not in the way Mia had said. Paging through the investigation reports that afternoon, they found a handwritten note about the first victim, indicating that he had been part of the Pharmacology department at Ivy University.

"What do they do there, Iris?" Mia asked, brow furrowed.

Iris thought back to the university: Dahlia had only asked her to step in eight months ago, and Iris had never really known her sister's (her own? she had been Dahlia for eight months, after all) ex-boyfriend, Doug Swallow, other than to see him. "Well... I think it was something to do with chemicals. They had a big laboratory."

"That's it!" Mia exclaimed, slamming shut the file. "She must have stolen the poisons from the laboratory!"

"And... and maybe they can help Phoenix?" Iris asked timidly. She'd accidentally called him _Feenie_ once, and had been so embarrassed that she hadn't done it since, although Mia obviously hadn't noticed.

"Yeah," said Mia happily. "Yeah, I think so."

Iris wished she could have the brash confidence of the buxom young attorney: Mia sometimes seemed worried, but she was never timid or hesitant. If she thought something, she said it; and if something seemed plausible, she grabbed it and strode through it through with inexorable logic. And Mia never seemed to doubt their ability to hunt down Dahlia and save the two wounded young men.

Iris herself wondered if Phoenix would even live to see the summer, and felt in her heart that they would never catch Dahlia. Her sister—_No,_ Iris thought fiercely, _no sister of mine!_—was too smart, too cautious, and too spiteful to ever return if she thought the police suspected her. Meanwhile Iris, the shy and stupid Hazakura nun, could do nothing more than follow in Mia's footsteps, and hope for the best.

"Hey," Mia said softly, and Iris realized she'd been staring at the ground for some time. Mia's eyes were a soft brown, sparking when she was angry, but gentle and deep when she was calm, as now. "I know this all seems like a long shot, but... we can do it. One step at a time, we'll find her."

Iris wanted to yell _No, this won't work!_ but managed to say, "I know. Thank you, Mia."

Mia frowned. "You don't have to thank me. I'm just... I just don't want anyone else to get hurt. This is justice for Terry Fawles. And for Diego." Then she smiled, and Iris was blinded by her selfless beauty. "And for Phoenix, too. We'll help him, just like I'm sure he'd help us."

A beam of hope suddenly burst through the clouds at that, and Iris felt her heart lift, remembering how Phoenix had loved the law. He had worked so hard at it, pulling all-nighters and studying mercilessly for exams, so he could skip straight into the second year of law school after college: Iris had always been just a little bit jealous, wishing she had a passion half as great, and in consequence had done what she could to help Phoenix reach his dream.

"You're right," she said now, more confidently. "He would help us, if he could. So... let's go try and help him."

* * *

><p>"Good tip, Miss Fey," said the detective happily, leafing through her memorandum. Even when she could just explain the situation in five seconds, Mia preferred to write something for the record. "We went to the Pharmacology department at the university—they had two different kinds of chemicals stolen in the last few months."<p>

"And they were the poisons?"

The detective shrugged, looking sheepish. They were bent over the table in a police conference room, bulging files, maps, and medical records scattered on every surface. "The chemicals weren't designed to be poisons, and... I mean, I'm not really scientific, but the guy seemed to think it was a match."

Mia was tempted to giggle—the man had probably used a lot of excessively long words, and Gumshoe was spot-on in describing himself as unscientific—but nobly resisted. He added, "They said the compounds stolen could probably produce those same symptoms if given to a human being."

"Did he say anything about an antidote?" Mia asked carefully, trying to veil her impatience. She felt certain Diego would recover on his own, but Iris, who had finally taken a train back to Hazakura, needed better news than that. She checked her watch: there would be just enough time to call Iris, then catch the two o'clock express train to Kurain to meet her.

"Yes, but it's not great news," admitted the detective. "The one Mr. Armando took was lethal at two teaspoons, so he must have gotten a fairly low dose. But the second one was kind of...weird. The professor said it does really bad stuff when mixed with things like medication or other chemicals."

"Coldkiller X," Mia said, feeling a chill down her back. "That's how Mr. Wright was poisoned: she put the stuff in his antihistamine." She vaguely wondered if coffee inhibited poison intake.

"Must've been that," Gumshoe said dejectedly. "Anyway, the guy said they'll work on it, but it's not like they'd ever tested the stuff on humans..."

"I wouldn't think so," Mia assured him, trying to seem upbeat. "At least there's another link between Dahlia and the poisonings—how else could she have stolen them, if she weren't dating someone from the Pharmacology department?"

* * *

><p>It was only later, sitting on the express train and aimlessly sipping a cup of very bad coffee (she hadn't had time for anything but the train station's quick stop), that she realized a darker possibility. Iris could have stolen the poisons, too: it didn't take much work to slip into a dark building with a flashlight and find poisons by name. And certainly Dahlia had done her homework when dating Doug Swallow.<p>

Mia sighed, resting her head against the train window. With every step towards finding Dahlia, poor Iris was dragged further down into her sister's crimes. Beyond that, with each step, the police would probably begin to be more and more suspicious of Iris herself, and to doubt whether she might be Dahlia in disguise.

* * *

><p>"Iris, I just knew," declared Maya several hours later, "that I would like you."<p>

Iris giggled, a musical if somewhat unfamiliar sound. She burped gently, and looked shocked, as if unaware that she could do such a thing. "I'm sorry!"

"Such is only a natural reaction to carbonation," said Maya gravely, and both girls burst into fits of giggles again. Mia, feeling a bit smug, took another bit of her aunt's strawberry dessert. They had just finished dinner—which, to Iris's surprise, had been the Maya Special, hamburgers served with soda—and were lounging about the small sleeping room attached to the Main Hall.

"Yes, but—excuse me," Iris said, still alternately giggling and pressing a hand to her cherry-red face.

Mia smiled to herself again, setting down her empty dessert plate and standing to tidy up the table. Life in Kurain was so peaceful: it was almost easy to forget about everything: strangely, Mia even tended to forget that her aunt Morgan was no more than a few rooms away.

Speaking of whom... Mia frowned, and peeked her head into the hallway, as Iris and Maya debated the finer points of local sodas. Usually little Pearl, obsessed with becoming Maya someday, was never more than twenty feet away from her older cousin. But she had been conspicuously absent today, despite Morgan having serenely prepared lunch for them.

"Maya, where's your cousin?" she asked.

Maya looked up, and made a face. "Aunt Morgan wants her to study all weekend, and says I'd distract her." She huffed, glaring at Mia with an adorable blowfish appearance. Mia always found it difficult not to laugh at Maya when she wore that face. "Me! Distract Pearly! I mean, I might make her play dress-up or something, but we meditate together all the time!"

"Well, you know Aunt Morgan," Mia said, biting the inside of her lip to keep from smiling. "She's very... strict. I think she forgets that Pearls is only five sometimes. It's a good thing Aunt Morgan doesn't have any other daughters."

Iris suddenly whooped and choked on her soda. Maya helpfully pounded her on the back. "What?" Mia asked, startled. "Was it something I said?"

After a spat of coughing, Iris finally looked up. She looked utterly miserable. "Mia... Maya... there's something I need to tell you. About why Morgan doesn't want Pearl anywhere near me."

* * *

><p>Maya was utterly transported (as the Victorians said) at the prospect of not only having a new cousin, but at Pearly having a new sister. "It'll be so wonderful!" she squealed. "You're so sweet and kind, Pearls will just adore you!"<p>

"No!" Iris cried. "No, you can't tell her! Morgan... my mother... she doesn't want me! I have no spiritual talent, I have lived in Hazakura most of my life... I would only be an intruder in Pearl's life!"

Mia reached across the low table and grasped Iris's wrist. She felt terribly for the younger girl, mostly because she was absolutely right: Morgan would want nothing to do with her. It explained the look on her aunt's face, when Mia had announced she was bringing a new friend named Iris Fey: part disgust, part fear, and part hatred. Pearly might indeed love Iris, but her biological sister would only find hostility in Kurain.

"I understand," she said quietly. "And I'm sorry to say you and Pearls may not meet anytime soon—at least, not until my mother returns, or Maya becomes the Master of Kurain. Perhaps then Morgan won't protect Pearl so strictly." That is, treat her with affection, instead of heaping all her broken hopes and dreams on the poor child's back.

Iris sniffled, and Mia realized she'd been fighting tears. "And... and you and I. Does this change...?"

Mia realized what she meant, and shook her head firmly, reaching across with the other hand to take both of Iris's. Their eyes locked, and she smiled, realizing that her first impression—that Iris looked like Maya—probably had as much to do with genetics as with her sweet nature. "No, Iris. You're the same caring, determined, selfless person I've always known. This changes nothing."

"Except that we love you even more!" Maya corrected her. She pounded a fist on her thigh, and looked up with a grin. "This calls for a celebration! Mia, another soda, if you please?


	5. Renovatio, So To Speak

**Chapter Five: Renovatio, So To Speak**

Three weeks passed, with neither discovery nor incident. Dahlia Hawthorne had vanished into thin air.

Mia leaned against the conference table, seething. The head detective now considered the case against Dahlia Hawthorne completely dead. "Even if we know that she did it, since only she could have obtained both poisons," he said flatly, "we truly have no idea where she could be."

"But!" Mia cried. "Maybe they saw her, or know something? Can't we just continue investigating?"

The detective stood up, and Mia suddenly knew how Iris felt. The man wasn't specifically trying to be intimidating, but he was accomplishing it nonetheless. "Miss Fey," he said in measured tones. "I realize that getting revenge on Ms. Hawthorne is something of an obsession with you. But we simply don't have the time or the support to continue a full-scale investigation. A notorious thief has just created an international incident downtown, six murders were committed in our precinct alone in the last twenty-four hours, and we're quite literally on crowd-control before tomorrow's execution."

He paused, paced back and forth a little, then turned back to her, face a little sorrowful. "I know how much this means to you, Miss Fey. If you'd be willing to sign nondisclosure forms, I'll allow you and your friend continued access to the protective facility. I just think you should go back to your job, and that she should go back to studying."

"They kicked her out," Mia snapped. "She was there under Dahlia's name, and the investigation team happened to mention that she was really a twin sister."

"I know, and for that I _am_ sorry," the detective said quietly. "I meant her private studies. Miss Fey, I'm very sorry that this hasn't turned out as well as you'd hoped, but we are grateful for your help. And I'll send along those nondisclosure forms: in the meantime, I'll let Detective Gumshoe know that you're accessing the facility using his name once the forms are completed."

Mia suddenly realized how crucial it was that she comply: she could be cut off from seeing Diego again if she didn't back off. With an effort, she put a slump in her shoulders. "I... all right. Thank you, Detective. If I promise not to contact you with trivial information, can I send along anything I find?"

"Yes," the detective said simply. "Thank you, Miss Fey."

Mia had been around the station long enough to recognize when she'd been dismissed. Without another word, she turned and picked up her briefcase, leaving the building.

* * *

><p>She went immediately to her car, throwing her stuff inside: God only knew how long it would take for the nondisclosure forms to be processed, and she felt a need to see Diego before one of Hammond's pre-trial hearings. It might be the last time for weeks.<p>

Buying a car last week had been somewhat of an impulse decision, but Mia was sick of relying on public transportation. What was the point of a driver's license if she couldn't use it? Besides, she hadn't spent much money: the car was fairly inconspicuous, a used sedan that looked neither seedy nor pretentious, and she felt equally comfortable taking it to the courthouse, the office, and Kurain.

But first, before she saw Diego, it was time for a coffee. Mia shook her head laughed to herself, accelerating out of the police station parking lot: what would he think if he could see her Starbucks addiction? She could barely go a few hours without craving some kind of java, and more often than not, didn't have time to brew it. _Although_, she thought amusedly_, I don't drink it black, so he would probably disapprove._

Twenty minutes later, sipping an Americano, she strode into the witness-protection facility and quickly signed in. Fifteen minutes was usually about all she had: after that, the officer would get antsy and come ask her to leave. Mia didn't particularly fear the police officers, but neither did she relish being kicked out. She walked quickly down the hall, and into Diego's room.

"I've only got a little time," she said softly to him, "but _shit_ would I like a quiet discussion with you." She sat down, taking a sip of the coffee. If only he were awake—God, she needed someone besides Iris with whom to discuss this case! There had to be another way. They'd checked the poisons, the Hawthorne family, even done a criminal background check on the alias Melissa Foster...

_Maybe Detective Badd is right_, she thought critically. Maybe she really was too obsessed with this case. Grossberg's office was certainly busy enough: he could hand her five cases a day to litigate, and Mia had perfect confidence in her own ability to handle civil suits. There was no need for her to spend every waking hour trying to find Dahlia, since it was technically a police job until she was arrested, anyway.

But then, it came back to Iris and her boyfriend. Mia's thoughts wandered, down the hall to where the young man named Phoenix Wright still lay silently. There had been no word back from the pharmacology department at Ivy University, and even Mia could tell that his vital signs (the few he had) were flagging desperately. Just thinking of it filled her with helplessness—and an uncharacteristic and frighteningly vicious hatred.

She took another drink of the coffee, a long swig that tasted of smooth nuts and cream. It reminded her so much of going out with Diego that she wanted to cry. "If I give up hope finding her, I'm giving up on Phoenix," she said aloud, softly. "And then I'm giving up on you, too, aren't I?"

His voice didn't respond, but she could almost hear what he would have said: _The only time a lawyer can cry is when it's over, Kitten_. Mia sighed, slumping over in the chair. It certainly wasn't over yet—although it might be soon, for the young man down the hallway—and she wasn't about to cry.

She checked her watch: ten minutes had passed, and her discovery organization meeting with Hammond was in two hours. Ugh, what a distasteful thought. "Well, wish me luck," she said ruefully, and stood up. "Time to go wrestle with eels."

Mia looked around carefully: she didn't know if it was actually against the rules to kiss the patients, but she'd only done it a couple of times, and hadn't seen anyone else do it. There were no nurses around, so she bent over quickly and kissed his lips.

Her immediate thought was that maybe it was the perfume she was wearing, or perhaps the beautiful weather outside. Later she found out it was just the coffee on her lips. Diego opened his eyes, blinked once, then smiled. "Hello, Mia," he said.

* * *

><p>Her first reaction was to shriek a little: fortunately she caught herself halfway through, and it was more like a strangled gurgle. Then the cup slipped from her hand and landed with a splash, drenching her ankles and shoes with lukewarm coffee.<p>

"Ack," she gasped, trying to kick the worst of it out of her shoes, dancing up and down like a fool. "Oh God, oh God, Diego!"

He laughed, and closed his eyes again: it was no more than a tired, husky echo of what his throaty voice had sounded like last year, but it was Diego, and he was alive, awake, and very much amused. "Tell me you didn't just drop Kiva Han espresso all over your nice white shoes, Kitten."

"I did, I really just did," Mia said, hearing her own voice shake. She couldn't decide whether she was going to sob or scream with laughter, both of the emotions raging up inside her until it hurt. "Oh, my God. How—um—are you all right? How do you feel?" She put a hand out, and as it brushed his arm he seized her fingers.

He smiled uncertainly, then looked in her general direction. "Terrible, if you must know the truth. I honestly can't see a thing, and whatever I drank gave me one hell of a hangover." He sniffed the air, tried to sit up further, then groaned. "Is this a hospital? What the...?"

Mia reached up with her other hand, seeing her fingers tremble, and touched his face. It was hard to keep from jumping up and down with joy, but she clenched her teeth, pausing to catch her wits. "Don't worry about it. It is a hospital, and it wasn't just a hangover. But..."

Finally the tears won out, and she clutched his hand so hard that he gasped, trying her best not to sob out loud. "Sorry," she managed to say, and bent over the bed as far as she could, pressing herself against him in a hug. Someone would be in to kick her out soon, and she knew she had to tell him as much as she could right now. "I'm so sorry, I have no right to be a hot mess, it's just—oh God, for a long time they let me think you were dead. Then you were alive again and now—"

A nurse bustled in, and she started up. It was a friendly young man with whom she'd talked before, but his sharp-nosed face was all business at the moment. "Out!" he said brusquely. "Out, out, out! You'll have to come back later."

"Okay," she said, then bent down and snatched one last kiss from a startled and obviously confused Diego. "I'll be back!"

* * *

><p>A few doors down the hall, where the shouts and orders were still quite loud, a very thin young man opened his eyes and looked around bemusedly, obviously recognizing nothing. After a moment, Phoenix Wright blinked in a half-conscious manner and went back to sleep.<p> 


	6. Fresh Hope

**Chapter Six: Fresh Hope**

She found Mia just after entering the facility, curled up against the hallway wall. Her head was buried in her knees, and her shoulders shook. Iris gasped and ran to her side. "Mia! Mia, are you all right? What's happened?"

Mia lifted her face, and Iris saw swollen red eyes and tear tracks, framed by an enormous smile of joy. "Iris!" Mia gasped. The smile vanished, and she looked frightened and a little guilty. She levered herself up, leaning against the wall for support. "Um... I was just here to... well..."

Suddenly Iris knew: only something big could make Mia Fey cry and laugh helplessly at the same time—or do either one, really. A spasm of jealousy shot through her, so painful that she felt faint. Then she got a hold on her emotions, and forced herself to smile. "He's finally woken up, hasn't he?"

"Yes! Oh, thank God, yes!" Mia burst out, and threw her arms around Iris in a fierce hug of relief that was at once unwelcome but terribly comforting.

Iris closed her eyes, feeling a few tears drip from her lashes. Why couldn't she be happy for Mia? She could only imagine that if it were Phoenix waking up, Mia would be equally happy for her.

But then, maybe Mia would be jealous, too. With that thought, Iris felt the jealousy subside. _Why_, she thought unhappily, _do I only feel happy for Mia when I imagine her as less than me? _Nevertheless, she felt a little better. It was only human to be envious sometimes, right?

It startled her beyond belief when Mia pulled away, her face arranged in a very serious expression. "I know how you must be feeling, Iris," she said softly. "I mean, I'm so happy, but I also feel guilty as hell that your boyfriend is still... you know."

Iris managed to give her a wan smile. "It's okay."

"No, it's not," said Mia, and reached into a pocket for a handkerchief. She rubbed away the tears, blew her nose, and repeated firmly, "No, it's not okay. At the risk of sounding stupid, it is what it is. I wouldn't hold it against you if you hated me for awhile, although of course you won't, because you're too sweet." She shrugged helplessly. "The poisons were different, and our men had different reactions to them. Mine just got lucky."

Then she smiled, and took Iris's hand. "Come on, let's go see yours before everyone stops running around like chickens with their heads cut off, and someone notices I'm still here."

"Okay," Iris said, suddenly feeling buoyantly happy. How did Mia do that? With just a few half-coherent sentences, she'd put Iris at ease with her own jealousy, made the situation seem incredibly simple, and had suggested a solution to any potential awkwardness. As she was towed briskly down the hall, Iris felt more hopeful than ever, if only because Mia would help her and Phoenix even more fiercely now.

To Iris's amazement, Mia went immediately to Phoenix's side and bent down to kiss his forehead, smoothing away the unruly hair. "Today is an excellent day, young sir," she said energetically, putting her hands on her hips.

Then she frowned, and looked down at him. "Is it just me, or does his color look better? As in... _really_ better."

Iris could barely stand to look at Phoenix anymore: seeing him like this was a slap in the face every time, and she tended to talk rather than look. But as she glanced over, expecting to see nothing different from last week, it became obvious that Mia was right. Besides the tint of pink in his cheeks, the strange yellowish-green had faded from the edge of his jaw. Iris could clearly distinguish the lines of his lips and eyelids, his over-delicate ears shining pinkly.

She found herself standing bolt upright, without any memory of leaving the chair. "What do you think it means?" she whispered, staring. _Oh, please, let it be that..._

"I don't know, but..." Mia glanced outside: the nurses had all vanished. "I know how to find out."

Iris watched as her friend glided to the end of the bed and removed the charts, flipping through them casually. "What are you doing?" Iris whispered, horrified. She couldn't make herself move to stop Mia, and clung to Phoenix's hand, watching. "Won't you get in trouble? How will you even know what they say?"

Mia looked up, amused. "No one will care, even if they do come in, which they won't. And I started out in tort law, I've read more medical reports than I have novels." She laughed. "For that matter, nowadays I prefer them over novels." She returned to perusing the chart, and flipped back to the first page.

Iris looked back at Phoenix: did she dare hope? "Please," she whispered, "please be better."

"Yow!" exclaimed Mia, coming over to point something out to Iris. "Now this is fantastic. They've been marking results on the Glasgow, I guess the poison was acting like a head injury. Yesterday's score was an eight!"

"What does that mean? What's it out of?" Iris asked: the notes on the chart looked like a child's drawings to her, and she couldn't even tell to what Mia was pointing. Her lips felt numb, and she bit them to keep from yelling, _Don't give me false hope, Mia!_

Mia looked up, obviously concerned. "Well, it's out of fifteen. You or I would have a fifteen. But an eight is way better than what I expected. Let's see... opens eyes to loud voice, no verbal response, but motor response to pain is normal withdrawal. Could be better, could be localization, but maybe that's because he's lost so much muscle."

Something in Iris finally snapped. Maybe it was because she despised doctors, and Mia had suddenly begun to sound like one. Then again, perhaps it was something else two which she couldn't even put a name. "Response to _pain_?" she repeated furiously. "What, have they been sticking him with needles? Cutting him with knives to see if he responds? Mia, that's _terrible!_ Feenie isn't even awake!"

Then, realizing again that she'd once again used the nickname—her private name, one she almost never called him in public—Iris sat down abruptly. Her eyes filled with tears. The past few weeks had been hellish, and if it weren't for her own faint hope that Phoenix might someday wake up—and she would miss it—she would gone back to Hazakura for good. She hated this, all of it.

Mia looked at her, and put the chart back at the end of the bed. "Iris," she said gently. "I'm sorry, I rattled all that off very quickly. I guess I was showing off. But...he _is_ awake. And as for sticking him with needles every day..."

She reached out a finger and traced the IV running down Phoenix's arm. "I'm afraid they have been, by default of medical treatment." She looked up, and winced at Iris's horrified expression. "I know. It's really unpleasant. But the chart gave him a three in visual responses: someone spoke loudly, and he opened his eyes to look at them."

Iris felt her breath catch in her throat; she was barely able to glance over at Phoenix. Mia, obviously guessing what she thought, warned, "It doesn't mean he'll do it again. The GCS might not apply here, it's just a clinical tool."

"But why wouldn't they tell me?" Iris asked, feeling the prick of tears again. "Some of the nurses are nice, why wouldn't one of them say that he's waking up?"

"It's not a normal hospital," Mia answered. "They might be forbidden to tell visitors anything."

That didn't seem particularly important to Iris; she felt as if she would break the rules to tell a patient's lover the truth. But then, she had to admit she'd never given Phoenix so much as a sisterly kiss in front of the nurses and orderlies. They would probably tell Mia information about him before they told her.

"Iris," Mia said suddenly. Upon looking up at her, Iris saw Mia wearing a very careful expression. "Iris, the detective in charge of the case said you were still studying. But I know they kicked you... well, they kicked Dahlia out of Ivy University. What are you studying?"

Iris felt her face grow cherry red. Mia finding out about this was one of her worst nightmares: but she didn't see any way around telling the truth. "Law," she whispered.

Mia frowned. "Did you say law? As in... being a lawyer?"

A sudden surge of courage burst through Iris, and she firmed her chin, looking up defiantly. "Yes. I still had all of Ph-Phoenix's law books."

There was a moment of silence, then Mia smiled—but uncertainly and very doubtfully. "If it's not too much, can I ask why?"

Iris looked over at Phoenix; why shouldn't she tell Mia? If Phoenix were awake, he might well share the information himself, especially since Mia was an attorney. "It's... for someone else, someone he was friends with a long time ago." Iris shrugged helplessly. "I don't even remember the man's name... Phoenix just said that the only way he could contact him was to become a lawyer, and 'save' him."

She watched Mia from the corner of her eye; the attorney bit her lip and looked for a minute like she were going to laugh. But she said only, "Save him?"

"Yes," Iris said, feeling weary. "Phoenix wanted to... reconnect? See if he were really corrupt, and fix it? I don't know, we only talked about it the one time."

A sudden burst of annoyance with Phoenix shot through, immediately followed by guilt. Phoenix had always been so idealistic—sometimes to the point of silliness—that Iris had always put off his desire to "save" this friend as no more than a side effect of being madly in love with the law. But after Dahlia had poisoned him, a thrill of terror had come over her: what if this friend really needed help?

"And now you want to fulfill his wish," Mia said, her voice soft. "Iris, that's... that's incredibly selfless."

"It won't do any good," Iris said bitterly. "I'm just deluding myself into thinking I can do it. I don't have a college degree, so I can't go to law school or be a lawyer. And all I know about this 'Demon Prosecutor' is that he's young, the same age as Phoenix. How am I supposed to find him?"

Mia gasped: her face suddenly became white, then red, then white again. "The Demon Prosecutor? _Edgeworth?_" Iris couldn't tell if Mia was angry or just surprised.

"I think that might be him. Is his first name... Michael, or something like that?"

"Miles," said Mia, and this time Iris could tell: she was utterly and scornfully disgusted. "Miles Edgeworth, the smarmy little brat. If you must know, he's the prosecutor who allowed your sister—I'm sorry, who let Dahlia get off scot-free for Valerie Hawthorne's murder and Terry Fawles's suicide. Calling him the Demon Prosecutor is entirely deserved, in my opinion."

Then she looked at Iris's face, and her expression turned to horrified regret. "Oh. I'm sorry, Iris. I didn't mean... that is, I'm sure..." She fumbled for a moment.

"No, that sounds right," Iris said serenely, although her heart was racing with fright. "That's just the kind of person Phoenix would try to save: someone everyone else has given up on."


	7. Fantabulistic, Is It Not?

**Chapter Seven: Fantabulistic, Is It Not?**

* * *

><p>About ten minutes later someone—Iris didn't remember which nurse, although Mia tried to argue with him or her—returned to kick them out. The two of them hadn't spoken a word since the sort-of disagreement. But Iris discovered, much to her own private pleasure, that Mia had been wrong: finding out that they were cousins <em>had<em> changed things.

Mia had treated her no differently, that much was true. Except for her tendency to soften and give Iris more hugs than before—which could simply be because of their growing friendship—she was the same confident, declarative, respectful, happy young woman as before. But Iris, for her own part, had found the whole relationship easier since that Mia knew the truth.

So as they left the hospital, instead of remaining awkwardly silent, Iris asked, "Mia, do you remember the diamond?"

Mia looked at her blankly for a moment, and Iris wondered if she should have placed the question in context of her curiosity. "Oh!" she finally said, face relaxing in relief, apparently realizing that Iris was graciously trying to make conversation. "Yes, I do. The raw diamond Dahlia stole from her stepfather, right?"

"Yes," Iris answered. "Do you have any idea what happened to it? As in... does she still have it? If she sold it, that might explain her ability to continually elude the police."

Mia frowned, her forehead creasing. Then, as they slid into the seats of her car, Mia's eyes grew huge, and her jaw dropped.

Startling Iris, she leaned across the compartment and planted a kiss on Iris's forehead. "You've _got _it!" Mia crowed. "Oh, Iris, you're brilliant! She could only sell a diamond that huge to so many people! If we can find her fence, we might be able to track her down through him!"

Mia was so obviously excited and caught up in her own train of thought that Iris was hesitant to interrupt. But finally she asked, "Um... fence?"

"Oh—someone who takes stolen materials and sells them on the black market for a fortune." Mia waved her hands. "Sorry, showing off again—and the word is probably inapplicable. But, oh my God, Iris! Let's think, she could sell it to so many people." She started ticking names off on her fingers. "There's Herm Grimbold; Smithson Dallinger; that German gang out east; that Free Church bastard, what's-his-name, Wilkes; then there's all the Italian families, the Cadaverinis, the Lombardos, the Bolognesas..."

Iris said timidly, "Do you think... we can talk to all those people? I mean, can the police do that?"

Mia stopped in her tracks, and sighed, dropping her hands into her lap. After a moment, she put in the key and started the car. "No," she said, with a tinge of frustration, and twisted, looking backwards to pull the car out of the parking space. "We certainly can't. And the police haven't found out anything about the diamond yet, because they don't have that many contacts with... with..."

The car slowly drifted to a stop as Mia's words drifted away, and Iris sucked in her breath with a little shriek as they barely missed hitting another vehicle. Mia didn't hear her; she had frozen again, but this time with a look of contemplative incredulity on her face. "M-Mia?"

The young attorney looked at Iris: her brows fell, and set into a look of determination. She whipped the car into first gear, and they peeled out of the parking lot. "I just thought of something," she said, lips tight, "but it's technically not legal."

* * *

><p>"Well, Miss Fey," said the man smugly, rising to stand from his solid gold desk as Mia boldly strode in. "This is a splendiferously complicative surprisation as in regards to me."<p>

Mia wanted to moan aloud and cover her ears. "Mr. White," she said, in as friendly tones as she could manage. "I realize how strange this situation must seem..."

"Hoh hoh," he said tolerantly. "My not-so-secretive nemesis arrives to provide me with visitation. In what way could that be strange?" He stood up, and Mia noticed Iris wincing at the insane sparkle from his diamond-studded jewelry and clothing. "_Res ipsa loquitur_, clearly you require something quite difficulterous."

Mia cleared her throat, half-wishing she could just die. The worst part about Redd White was that, just like a cliché, he was always right. Only in a situation this desperate would she even approach the man. "I've come to make an offer."

"An exchange, I presume."

"Yes," Mia said, her mouth dry. _Oh God, what am I doing?_

Over the years, Mia had been secretly gathering and organizing information on Redd White. The only person she'd ever told about it was Maya: even Diego hadn't known. Was she really going to trade any of her hard work—done to avenge her mother's good name—for a little tip about Dahlia Hawthorne?

_Let's just see how this plays out_, she thought determinedly. There was a Plan A... only if things got sticky would she use Plan B, all of that blackmail information.

White had posed himself, and was examining his shining, polished nails. "Hmm," he said, grinning like an ape. "I cannot cogitate any explanative as to why I should make a common cause with the likes of you, Miss Fey." The emphasis in his voice was unmistakable: her name should be associated with grubs and earthworms, not Redd White.

"First, what I need will cost you almost no effort," Mia said coolly. "Second, I'll pay in your own currency: information."

"Indeed?" White looked no more than vaguely concerned. He moved around the desk, approaching her. Mia tried her hardest not to gag: he was wearing some kind of cologne that had undoubtedly cost more than her car, but smelled like an overripe banana seasoned with sandalwood. "And your informational divulgatories would be...?"

She smiled. "First I'd rather hear if you can get me what I want."

"Insolence, eh?" White seemed more amused than annoyed, which surprised her. "All right. Go on, expoundulate your necessity."

Then again, considering what she offered, perhaps his borderline politeness wasn't surprising. Iris sighed, obviously lost, and Mia felt a stab of guilt for having brought her. This was not only illegal, but dangerous. But it was too late to show any weakness, and Mia was damned if she would further endanger Iris by escorting her from the room. "I need," she said calmly, "news of a diamond. A big diamond. If anyone's recently come into the market for one, bought one, or sold one."

"Ahhh," sighed White, wiggling his own diamond-encrusted fingers, almost blinding her. "_News_ of a diamond, you say? Not the diamond itself?"

"Good grief, no," Mia answered, allowing scorn to show. She'd known that something as material as a jewel would spark his attention. "As I said, information only. There's not even any need for an investigation. Just tell me what you've heard on the grapevine, Gossip Girl."

She was pleased to see him wince at her use of clichés. "Hmm," he said, trying to hide his interest, and totally failing. "Hmm, well... it just so happens... I have heard some news." Then he paused and looked at her, and raised his neatly plucked eyebrows. "Oh ho, but Miss Fey—perhaps I should reveal no information until I have obtentioned the nature of your... er... bid."

Mia couldn't help but clench her fists behind her back, although she managed to remain her posture. She could lie brilliantly when she wanted (although the opportunity rarely arose) and knew that the best lie often contained an iota of the truth. _I'm sorry, Diego_, she thought, _but I promise you'll stay safe_. "My information concerns the two deaths at Ivy University, and the death of my co-worker last year."

White grinned wolfishly. "They are linked. Please, Miss Fey, even this much have I might have guessticulimated."

"More than that," Mia said, carefully keeping her eyes away from Iris. "One of the victims is still alive."

White didn't say anything at first: his perfectly neutral expression and silence were enough to convince Mia she'd come up with the appropriate motivation. Finally he spoke. "And the reason for a police cover-up?"

Mia smiled, partly at the quickness with which he'd dropped his ridiculous phrases. "That's not currently part of my offer."

He narrowed his eyes at her, displeased. "Which victim?"

Mia had only that moment to act, but she'd expected and prepared for the question. She turned her head and blushed as convincingly as possible—a trick she'd learned from Maya, of all people. "Er... that's not... that's not part of the deal either."

"Ah ha!" cried White, and her suspicions were confirmed. A cunning (and self-titled) gatherer of information White may be, but he was obviously no great judge of character. _Nor_, she thought with satisfaction, _does he play much poker. _ "Oh ho ho ho! Not only does your manifestationing visage reveal the mystericalious personage of your colleague, but also your passionifiate feelings for him! Miss Fey, now you must tell me: where is the locationtory in which your lover resides?"

"The witness protection facility out in Oakside," Mia said, as if with numb lips. "Mr. White... I..."

"Mia!" Iris suddenly cried, and seized her arm. "Don't tell him anything else!"

She looked utterly horrified. Mia winced dramatically: her cousin's reaction was perfectly timed, for all it was unrehearsed. "I won't. Is that... is that enough for you, Mr. White?"

"Oh, but it is," he said, and guffawed uproariously, obviously quite pleased with himself. She felt a burst of sudden relief: she had been unable to think of any better spurious information than something personal about herself. Moreover, having 'slipped' Diego's location wouldn't harm him: but it would give a hint of danger to the information that White would seize upon and try to exploit.

And most importantly, she had said nothing about Phoenix Wright's survival. There was no reason for anyone to know he'd lived.

He wiped his eyes, which had been streaming with laughter. "Ho ho, Miss Fey. All right. I would nominate this as a satisfactorial dealing. I have heard news of a diamond recently. A raw diamond, uncut and of exponential value." He paused, looking up and pretending to be contemplative. "Oh, if only I could remember who was supposed to be the most interested bidder..."

Mia waited, but it became obvious he was still waiting for more information. She felt a quick swing of panic: what else could she say? She couldn't betray the police department... suddenly it occurred to her, and her stomach wrenched. This was going to be unpleasant... but only for her. "Did you hear," she said carefully, "about my very first case?"

"Indeed," chortled White, and she felt a spasm of hate for the casual entertainment this was giving him. "A miserable failureatude, I would call it."

"Yes," Mia said coolly. Iris's eyes went huge, and she put a hand over her mouth. _Surely_, thought Mia, _she must be guessing why I'm doing this_. "The real killer got away when my defendant poisoned himself on the witness stand. And she..." Mia swallowed, and forced herself to say it. "She's the real killer at Ivy University."

White regarded her, more shrewdly than she'd expected. "Which means she also 'killed' your boyfriend." There was no sarcasm in his tone, and when he spoke again, his tone was befuddled. "Miss Fey, you really want this information about the diamond, don't you?"

His un-grandiloquized words put a slap of fear into her, but she answered calmly. "Are you done lording yourself over me, Mr. White? I've given you good information that would probably get me into deep trouble with the police, and gives you a personal edge over me. Me, the person you probably fear and hate more than anyone. Is that worth a single name?"

He eyed her for a moment, obviously trying to figure out why the name meant so much to her. It had something to do with Dahlia, she knew he could tell that much. She didn't know how good his connections were with the police department, whether he could find out about Phoenix, or get a picture of Dahlia and connect her with Iris. She doubted it: White was essentially a lazy blackmailer, who would rather buy and sell information than actually research it.

Whatever the case may have been, she obviously managed to look serene enough, and he clapped his hands, the huge, fake smile reappearing. "All right, Miss Fey, you have finanglified me into revelatoriness." He paused, leaving a beat just long enough for her to doubt he would speak again, then declared, "The possible buyer was a man by the name of Tigre, who runs a loan shark business on the edge of town. Has connectilatories with the local Mafia, apparently. The sale is supposed to go down next Monday."

Mia felt a rush of relief and gratitude so strong that she was momentarily tempted to thank him profusely. But that would only have wasted her efforts, and she mastered the temptation. "Good. Adieu, Mr. White."

"Until we encounterify again, Miss Fey," he said, mock-ominously. There was something about his expression, though, that made her hurry a little as they left.


	8. From the Ashes, of Course

Chapter Eight: From the Ashes, Of Course

* * *

><p>A week and a half until the sale of the diamond. That gave them at least a few days to decide whether to tell the police. "That... that was <em>really<em> illegal, wasn't it," Iris had whispered on the way back from White's palatial office building.

"Yes," Mia had answered, eyes on the road, and this time her lips were genuinely tight. "What will be even more illegal is _not_ telling the police. So if we go there, and get in trouble, we'll be doubly screwed—if you'll pardon my French—when the detectives start gathering up the pieces."

"So shouldn't we just tell them?" Iris asked wearily. "We could just leave it to them to decide whether or not it's even good information."

"And they would promptly arrest us," Mia reminded her. "If we told the police, they would bungle everything up by giving away our hand to either Dahlia or this Tigre character, and we'd be back to square one, but worse because we would be in jail."

Iris had been quiet for a moment. "Doing a little evil to accomplish a great good, huh?" she had asked, feeling her heart sink at the prospect.

Mia had agreed, although her face was torn. Iris now knew her cousin well enough now to recognize guilt and misery fighting against pride and fear: Mia hated to do—probably had never _done_—anything immoral or illegal. But the need to get this over with, to catch Dahlia, was too overwhelming to go through all the red tape first.

Thankfully, the police paperwork for their visitation rights had finally gone through. As long as they arrived together (and Iris didn't have any way to get there besides Mia, anyway), or bring items in, they could have an hour twice a week. Iris couldn't bear only having that much time, but there was nothing she could do about it.

"I don't think Mia realizes how deep in trouble we'll be," she quietly said to Phoenix, three days after the White visit. For the first time she could remember, his gaunt hand was almost as warm as her own. "I know she's much more worldly than me, but... she's used to being around criminals, and escaping from terrible risks. Being arrested is horrible—it changes your whole life."

Iris stared out the clinic window, frustrated. She couldn't understand, either, why Mia had so deliberately put her own lover's life in danger. Perhaps Diego Armando was a sturdy kind of fellow, who had just gotten unlucky with Dahlia—but Iris would never have risked Phoenix's life like that, awake or not.

"Anyway, I'm sorry to complain at you," she said. "Soon I'll talk to you, and get answers."

She stroked his bare right arm, the inside of his elbow, down to his poor trapped wrist. The nurses had put him in hand and chest restraints; her timid inquiry had revealed that he'd panicked and tried—with some success—to rip out the breathing hose yesterday. Iris had rejoiced even as her heart broke, since that meant he was awake. And it was only a matter of time before she was there for it.

Iris stroked his arm again, and was startled to feel him shudder. She looked up, and the expression of indignation with which he regarded her—_stop tickling me!—_ was so normal that she didn't register at first.

Then she sucked in a breath of shock. "Phoenix?" she whispered.

He smiled at her, and tried to say _Dollie_. The syllables formed in his mouth, but no sound; he grimaced. "Oh, Feenie," she said softly, tears springing unbidden to her eyes. She couldn't possibly correct him, not yet. There would be time for that.

Apparently it distressed him that he couldn't speak. Iris could see the panic starting to form in his wide eyes, and felt it mirrored by her own inability to explain _anything_. Phoenix tried to speak again, to say something, and struggled to free himself, the panic obviously seizing him hard; the hand she held was vibrating like a sail-sheet. _Help me,_ he said, a tear slipping down past his nose.

Iris, momentarily unable to think of anything else to do, stood and slipped her other arm around him, hugging him as close as she dared. He thrashed a little in her arms, but was so weak that she easily held him. "Phoenix, they _are_ helping you," she murmured, kissing his forehead, pressing her cheek against his. "You're too weak to breathe alone, but it'll be better in a few days. Just calm down, okay?"

To her surprise, it worked. After a while, she could feel his heartbeat slowing, and he became still. Iris carefully slipped her arm back out, sitting down next to him. She reached to grab a tissue from the bedside table, and gently cleaned the tears from his face, blotted his red nose. "There."

She took another tissue and blew her own nose, with a very unladylike _fwerp!_ To her relief, it provoked Phoenix into a small smile. Twisting around, Iris saw through the glass that no nurses were looking. Casually looking at his face, she felt down to his bony wrist and carefully undid the strap, raising his hand to kiss it.

"Don't cause any trouble," she said softly, stroking his arm, and he smiled again, eyes still reddened and a little frightened, but much calmer. He pressed her hand in gratitude, and mouthed, _How long?_

Iris sighed. She would have to start telling the whole truth soon, and now was the time to start practicing. "You've been asleep for almost eight weeks."

His eyes closed in what looked like pain, and he clenched his teeth. But his lips next formed the words, _Missing my exams._

Astonished, Iris began laughing. He opened his eyes again and gave her what could only be described as a Look. "I know, I know," she said, helplessly giggling. "It'll be a lot of trouble. But Phoenix... oh, how do I explain? You almost _died_, and you're worried about exams."

His shoulders raised and fell, his expression exhausted, as if he didn't expect her to understand. She felt a burst of chagrin. "I'm sorry," she said, brushing an errant lock of hair from his forehead. "Really, I am. I know how much school means to you. You're amazing for having that at the top of your priority list when you're so ill."

She hesitated, then said, "Maybe... I'll bring you some books, your law books. And I could read some of them to you. Is that okay? I could bring something lighter instead." What the hell—if they were already breaking the law, no one would care if she trucked in reading material.

Instead of answering, Phoenix merely regarded her for a moment, his brown eyes clear. _l love you, Dollie,_ he said, soundlessly, sincerely.

"Oh, Feenie," she said again, and started to cry.

* * *

><p>"Mmm," said Mia, from somewhere near Diego's collarbone. "I haven't done this for almost a year now."<p>

He chuckled, and she could feel the deep rumble of it in her nose, pressed against his throat. "That's good to know. A cute girl like you might've found any number of boyfriends, Kitten."

Mia had arrived at the facility to find Diego sitting in a chair next to the bed, arms casually crossed as he listened to a jazz radio station and drank very bad coffee. He'd explained the humorous irony: the only medication they could currently find to battle his tremendous headaches was caffeine, administered regularly. "So for medical purposes," he had said, with great amusement, "I'm prescribed oral intake of caffeine, once or more every hour. The only problem is, it's a choice between pills, or the hot horse piss this hospital claims is coffee."

"Maybe I should bring you a delicious hot present next time," Mia said slyly. In the ensuing conversation that snapped with sexual tension, she had ended up not only in his arms, but on his lap. It was so tremendously familiar that she thought she could stay forever.

A nurse—the friendly fellow with the sharp nose—put his head into the room, obviously about to say something. Seeing them, he stopped, tried unsuccessfully to hide a smile, and said, "I'll be back."

"Mm-kay," Mia said as he left. She sighed in total contentment. "So what makes you think I haven't had any platonic boyfriends? I mean, I could have had any number of non-cuddling men in eight months."

He laughed again, and asked reasonably, "Well, have you?"

She sighed, and raised her head to look at him. He didn't look particularly concerned, and in fact had reached out to fumble for the coffee cup and take another drink. "No. Of course not. But you knew that."

He set the cup back down, and said softly, "I know you, Kitten." His dark eyes seemed to search her face, although she knew he couldn't see a thing. All sight (except very bright sunlight) had deserted him: he claimed there were stranger side effects than that. "I can tell you've been lonely. And if I'd known I would be gone for that long, I would have at least said _I love you_ first."

She felt her heart speed up, and traced his lips with a finger. "Do you?" She'd phrased it jokingly, but wished she hadn't. They'd been passionate last summer, but had never talked about it, too afraid to acknowledge such a tenuous and dangerous relationship. The only time Mia had ever said she loved him was upon finding him dead in the court cafeteria, as she shook him and cried his name repeatedly.

It was his turn to sigh. He shifted uncomfortably beneath her, and she realized that her weight might be a bit much, he being unaccustomed to having anyone on his lap. But as she tried to get up, he pulled her back. "No, it's all right. Mia, I feel... very different than before. I can't even put a finger on it." He frowned, and her heart sank. "Physically, something is very wrong, and emotionally I feel like a teenage girl, all angry and weepy at the same time. I'm not in the mood for innuendo."

"So I should go?" she said, trying her best to sound neutral, although her chest ached.

He laughed, and she realized how paranoid she was being. "Of course not, Kitten. I do love you—I have since five minutes into the Fawles trial, at most. I'm just having difficulty with this sincerity thing." He took her hand, face uncharacteristically flushed. "I'm going to have to change my name once they let me leave here, but... would you like to change it with me?"

She gaped at him. A moment ago, she'd been afraid of overstepping her boundaries. "Was that... did you just ask me...?"

"Marry me, Mia Fey," he said softly. "Can you do that?"

Mia was so astonished that she couldn't answer. She gulped and put a hand to her mouth, trying to hide the tears as she nodded frantically. Then she realized he couldn't see her, and sniffled mightily. "Of course, you dummy. As soon as they let you put some real clothes on, I'll marry you."

Her words had again been facetious, but this time she knew he could hear the seriousness in them. As their lips met, she saw the nurse come back in from the corner of her eye. _Too bad_, she thought defiantly, and pressed further into the kiss.


	9. Unexpected Hitches

Chapter Nine: Unexpected Hitches

* * *

><p>Nothing had gone as she'd planned—nothing.<p>

In theory, it had been very simple: hide out in front of the loan office on the Monday of the putative transaction, until they saw Dahlia arriving. Then Mia could follow her in and Iris would make a 911 call (saying she was carrying a knife or something), avoiding the problem of telling the police, but nevertheless cornering Dahlia with them.

But then had come the call from the Ivy University pharmacology department. Mia had asked to be notified if any antidotes came through, and had expected something before the confrontation with Tigre: after all, Dahlia would be certain to take poison with her when she disappeared for good. So Mia was unsurprised when she was called to the police station.

"It's not an antidote," said the head Detective. He rubbed a hand over his face, looking more exhausted and grey than ever. "Something else was stolen from the lab."

Mia felt a chill. "Another poison?"

The detective shook his head. "Sulfuric acid. A goodly-sized vial of it, almost undiluted."

"Do we think that's Dahlia?" Mia asked, frowning.

"Could be," the detective said, looking a little helpless. He took the ever-present toothpick from his teeth, and Mia was astonished to see a lollipop at the end. Wonders never ceased. "Or it could be some smartass kid planning an explosive experiment. Or some hippie who wants to make paper. It could even be some pervert who needed the ingredients for ether. I just... felt like you deserved a warning. Be careful, Miss Fey."

As much as Mia had appreciated the warning—and she made sure the detective knew she did—it frustrated her beyond reason. So what was Dahlia planning with the acid? Was she going to throw it in someone's face? Possibly, but that was hardly likely to kill the person. Mia shivered: perhaps Dahlia wasn't planning the person's death, but revenge.

* * *

><p>The other spanner in the works had been Iris. They had agreed (Iris somewhat forlornly) that only Mia would actually go into Tender Lender, if the time came. Mia wasn't a large person, but Iris was even less so: her twin sister, if possessed by rage, could easily overpower her and hold her hostage.<p>

"And besides that, one of us will be safe outside, able to call the police if things go faster than planned," Mia had reminded Iris. "And I think you'd be far more likely to do the smart thing and just make the call, instead of barging in and causing even worse trouble. Like I undoubtedly would."

Iris had smiled, a little bitterly. "Because I'm a coward."

"No, you're not. And that's not what I meant," Mia said insistently. "There are different kinds of bravery: you've got the kind of courage it takes to trust someone else, instead of taking things into your own hands. I don't—I've always got to barge in and do it myself."

Her reasoning had apparently made sense to Iris, who, after a moment, had smiled more happily. "You're like Phoenix, then."

But their tenuous agreement to split up had been wrecked after their visit to the facility that Sunday. Iris had walked, almost run, into Diego's room, inexplicably carrying an armful of hornbooks. Without preamble she had pointed at Mia and said quaveringly, "I'm going into that loan shop with you, and there's nothing you can do about it."

Mia froze, halfway through helping Diego adjust his necktie. She saw the tears running down Iris's cheeks, and immediately turned to her, taking hold of her hands. "What's happened, love? Is Phoenix all right?"

Iris lifted her chin, narrowing her dark eyes and yanking her hands away. "H-He's fine," she said, and Mia felt her heart begin to race. Behind her, she felt Diego start, and go absolutely tense. "But I'm going to make sure my bitch of a sister is arrested, and the only way I can do that is by going into the building with you!"

Then Iris saw how both of them were looking at her, and clapped her hands over her mouth. "I—I told him the truth," she whispered, and with a sob, she fled the room.

Mia felt her heart slowing finally, but was still frozen, looking after her. "My God," said Diego softly, and she looked up at his face, obscured by the strange, sight-giving mask the doctors had given him. "That wasn't her, was it?"

"Her twin sister," Mia said. But Iris had looked so much like Dahlia that just for a moment... it was hard to believe. She felt sick at the thought of Phoenix being told who 'Dollie' really was. "If you'll excuse my language, the shit has apparently just hit the fan."

* * *

><p>" 'The most important thing to remember about promissory estoppel is that it is <em>not<em> a substitute for consideration!'" Iris read from the contracts book, pitching her voice so he could catch the exclamation point. " 'Promissory estoppel is no more than the absence of a bargained-for exchange, and is a lawyer's way of describing a promisee's detriment, and allowing him to recover for his reliance on the promise.'"

She paused, and turned the book sideways, making Phoenix smile. "Whoever owned this book before you wrote '_Call it detrimental reliance instead, Murray likes that'_ in the margin. Too bad you don't have a professor named Murray, right?"

He grinned and mouthed, _I guess so._ Glancing down at the book, then back at her, he added, _You can stop if you're bored_.

"I will say, contracts has not been my favorite subject," Iris admitted, closing the book and setting it atop the stack. "At least with property, you can sink your fingers into a plot of dirt. Contracts is so vague. And this book must have a hundred notes about that Murray guy."

He shrugged, but she could tell he was grateful: he himself was obviously exhausted of hearing the law read aloud, but hadn't wanted to admit it.

Seizing his hand, she kissed his knuckles in a sudden welling of affection. Their time for the day was almost up, and she wouldn't see him again until after... after... "Do you think I should bring a pen and paper next time?" she asked, swallowing and trying to dispel the feeling of panic she always got when thinking about her sister. "Your hands already seem stronger: maybe you could try writing a bit."

Phoenix flexed his fingers, shaking his head. _Can't write._ When she looked confused, he removed his hand from her grasp and tapped the side of his head, then made a whirling motion. _Still too confused_. _Can't remember letters._

"Really?" Iris asked, startled and not sure she'd understood him correctly. "How do you know?"

He gestured vaguely to the end of the room, where a nurse's whiteboard hung, with notes about his own progress, and shrugged. There was no need for him to say anything else: he obviously couldn't read it. "Oh," she said quietly. "I'm sorry. But I'm sure it will come back. What good is a lawyer who can't read or write, hm?"

She'd meant it as a joke, and he smiled faintly, accepting that approach for now. _Thanks for the books_, he said, the words difficult to read from behind his tired lips. _You're an angel, Dollie_.

The very way he'd phrased it made her feel sick, and he obviously saw her expression change. Before she could think, Iris blurted out, "My name's not Dahlia. I mean, I'm her, the girl who's loved you for almost a year now, but... my twin sister's name is Dahlia. I'm Iris."

Phoenix just stared at her. Iris choked on a sob, astonished at herself: oh God, now that she'd begun telling him, she'd have to finish. When she could speak again, she said, "Dahlia... you met her first. She gave you that necklace because it was full of poison. The police were after her, and she couldn't be near you, trying to get it back. So she sent me. The next time you met Dollie, it was me."

His expression was still blank, but she could feel a burning hole of hatred in her own heart, and continued softly, "I fell in love with you. But she would come to me. She would hurt me, and humiliate me, and mock me. She needed that necklace back, and I tried to get it away from you, over and over again, because I loved you and I wanted you safe."

His eyes burned into hers, unwavering, and she finished miserably, "Then she decided I was useless. She poisoned you to shut you up. And there was nothing I could do to stop her. I would have given my life for you, but I never got the chance."

There was a long moment of silence; then she felt him withdraw his hand from her grasp. His eyes were still blank, fixed on her: but now she knew his was an expression of disbelief, of misrecognition. "No!" she cried, a bubble of panic rising in her chest. "Feenie, I... Please... I wouldn't even have told you, but... I love you too much to keep lying!"

But it was too late. Phoenix had turned his expressionless face away, closing his eyes to her presence. He looked like a man turned to stone, except for the tears running down his face.

Iris stood up, feeling her heart break. "I know you must hate me," she said quietly, trying not to sob again. "I'm so sorry, Feenie—Phoenix. I won't come back."

She bent to kiss him one last time, and he flinched at her touch, teeth clenching. She straightened, stared at him for one last instant, then snatched up as many of the law books as she could, tears falling like rain, and ran from the room.

* * *

><p>Diego sighed, and slipped the device from his face, sitting down. "I dunno, Kitten. Are you sure you're ready for this?" He was to be discharged in less than a week—amidst incredible disbelief at his rapid recovery—and had requested that Mia bring <em>any<em> men's clothing not resembling a hospital gown.

"As ready as I can be," Mia answered, putting the finishing touch on his tie and kissing between his brows. She'd almost cried for joy when he had first been able to see her face again, but the visor that allowed him to do so was hideous, some kind of steampunk driving lenses welded to a pair of sunglasses. She preferred being able to see his eyes, surmounted by the slashing dark brows and a perpetually lazy expression. "Building it up into a dangerous adventure will only make it impossible. She's only a girl, a selfish, immature little murderess."

"But a very dangerous one," he said softly. "I wish I could be there with you."

She reflected for a moment that both of them were less worried about confronting a presumably mob-connected loan shark named "Furio Tigre" than about a girl who barely weighed a hundred pounds soaking wet. The thought frightened Mia; suddenly she didn't want anything to be serious, and flicked the tip of his nose."If wishes were horses, beggars would ride."

He laughed. "I guess so. You sure have some interesting expressions, Kitten."

"My mother always said that one about my aunt," Mia said ruefully, remembering. Misty had been patience itself when it came to her own sister, and Mia, twelve years old and beginning to be scornful of the Kurain Tradition, had understood even then why her mother left the village.

"Speaking of whom," Diego said, frowning, "Iris. Someone said her last name was Fey—any relation? I mean, she certainly didn't say Hawthorne. And anyone named Fey living around here is surely part of your clan."

Mia wavered as he spoke, unsure if she could tell him. It certainly wasn't that she couldn't trust Diego with the information. But would Iris want anyone else to know? Finally, she said, "Yes. We're related. I'd rather you ask her about it, though: she grew up in Hazakura, part of a branch family, and the politics are a bit delicate."

"Right," said Diego, rolling his eyes. He rubbed his chin with a scowl; she thought it was merely at the feel of an uncultured five o'clock shadow, but his next words gave her doubt. "I'm sure she'd be oh-so-excited to talk to me, Kitten."

Mia was about to object: but she remembered her first reaction to Iris, how she'd seized the girl's arm and accused her of murder. And Diego hadn't yet had the opportunity to see the honesty and candor in Iris's face: just its outlines, its terrible resemblance to her twin. She felt a chill, and wondered if it bothered him, her own relation to Dahlia.

At last she said thoughtfully, "I managed to love Iris, despite having lost everything to her sister last August. If things go well—and they surely will—the two of you will be easy friends. Trust me."


	10. The Stakeout

**Chapter Ten: The Stakeout**

* * *

><p>Monday.<p>

Some time before dawn, Mia had picked up Iris at the train station. She could tell that all this travel back and forth between Hazakura and the city was wearing on her cousin: Iris's eyes were ringed, her posture unusually slumped. Mia herself was tired, too: she'd been up half the night finishing a brief and paperwork for a hearing at the end of the week.

She pulled the car into an anonymous parking garage some five corner blocks away from the loan shark office. "Sure you wouldn't rather just stay in the car?" Mia asked, shutting off the ignition. She was only half-serious: part of her hoped Iris would at last give in, and stay out of danger.

But the other half of her knew it wouldn't happen. Iris shook her head firmly, and slipped out of the car without another word.

As they walked toward what Mia hoped would be their last confrontation of Dahlia Hawthorne, both remained silent. Mia could only guess what Iris was thinking: how terrible it must be to hate your sister! The thought was absurd when placed in context of Maya, who was about as loathsome as a beagle puppy. And it was worse to know her own aunt Morgan had caused it, by throwing her own daughters away like so much trash.

But the harder Mia thought of something kind or encouraging to say to Iris, the more her mind froze with the effort. They'd already talked about Dahlia with Maya as a comforting filter, had cried together about their lovers, had bonded over coffee and wine as cousins. She thought—no, she _knew_—that Iris's life had been more exciting and happy than ever before when she was pretending to be Dahlia, and hoped that her own influence on Iris had been even half as pleasant.

They'd talked about everything, it seemed. Everything except what would happen if they didn't succeed. If this didn't work, and Dahlia escaped. Worse yet, if she killed someone else: if Iris died, or if Dahlia somehow found her way to Phoenix again. Mia didn't think it was possible, but then, she'd found the security at the witness-protection facility to be a bit lax.

Finally, Iris asked, very quietly, "Where are we going to wait? Er... stake out?"

The jocular police phrase, spoken in Iris's delicate soprano, almost made Mia laugh nervously. She swallowed the urge, and said, "There's a restaurant, a dialysis clinic, and an old abandoned hotel on the block. We can have breakfast at the restaurant, sit in the waiting room of the clinic until lunch, then I guess... sit in the hotel lobby for awhile."

She paused to sigh: she'd planned all this out, but knew _something_ else would go wrong. "Anyway, I think the loan office only has one entrance. Unless it's got an underground back door. Whatever. This isn't going to work."

"Yes, it is," Iris said, in a tiny voice. Mia looked over to see her face white and pinched. "It _has_ to."

Sighing only inwardly this time, Mia reached over and put an arm around her. "Yeah. You're right."

* * *

><p>Breakfast came and went without a sign of Dahlia. They moved to the dialysis clinic around ten, and a nurse watched them suspiciously for three hours after Iris signed them in under a fake name. Right about the time Mia thought they'd finally be called in for treatment, they moved to the hotel.<p>

The doors were not, as she'd assumed, open. But neither were the alarms operative, so when Mia broke a window toward the back of the building and slithered through, no bells blared, and the police didn't show up to arrest them for trespassing.

The afternoon came and went. Not a single person entered the loan office: not even, apparently, anyone who worked there. It looked like a light was on upstairs, and on their way past after breakfast, Mia had casually checked to make sure the door was open. But no one appeared on the street except a few rough-looking specimens of humanity, trudging in or out of the dialysis clinic.

"Could it be the wrong Monday?" Iris repeatedly asked in a timid voice. "Could this be the wrong loan office?"

"I don't know," Mia answered every time. "I really don't know, Iris."

* * *

><p>As dark fell, Mia could clearly see that a light was on in the upstairs office of the building. She stared at it, wondering in frustration why it was on. Could someone be there? The person would have arrived well before dawn, and hadn't left for any meals. It seemed hardly possible.<p>

Mia looked over at Iris, who had dozed off almost half an hour before, still sitting bolt upright in a dilapidated chair. Why bother waking her? It was obvious that Dahlia wasn't coming.

The streetlights went on; Mia checked her watch, and was startled to see that it was almost ten o'clock. She'd forgotten how long the summer days lasted. _Now that's suspicious_, she thought with alarm. _Ten o'clock, and no one's come down to lock the door?_

Making up her mind, she stood up, reaching over to shake Iris: her cousin blinked wearily up at her. "I'm going in," Mia said. "I can't wait any more, and it's just weird that we haven't seen anyone."

Iris didn't reply, just levered herself up from the chair and followed.

* * *

><p>The front door of the loan office squealed tremendously as she opened it all the way, and Mia froze halfway through entering, suddenly afraid someone would leap out at her.<p>

But the irrational terror fled as soon as it had come: there was a small foyer and secretary's area downstairs, with a staircase at the back leading to the second floor. Mia could see, just from the street lights outside, that a plant nearby had been watered. So it wasn't abandoned.

"Hello?" she called out, tired of waiting. "Is anyone here?"

No answer, of course. Mia walked over to the stairs, dispensing entirely with caution, peering only briefly up before mounting them. "Mia!" Iris hissed, terrified. Mia ignored her cousin and continued up to the door at the top of the stairs. After a moment, she heard Iris dart up after her.

"Hello?" she called again, and opened the door.

Iris screamed at the sight within, and Mia felt her heart stop for a moment. Then she reached into her pocket with a trembling hand, groping for Iris's arm with the other.

"Nine-one-one, what's your emergency?" said a dispatcher's voice, soothing and calm.

"Someone's been stabbed," Mia said, her mouth dry. She forgot about trying to grab Iris, who had subsided into hysterical little sobs, and was in the process of fleeing down the stairs. Mia moved forward; the man was lying face-down on the floor, one hand extended toward the desk. She couldn't quite tell because of all the blood, but it looked like a letter-opener sticking out of his back. "Um... I think he's dead."

"Okay, ma'am, just stay calm," said the dispatcher, although Mia thought her voice had been remarkably serene, considering the situation. There was a slam from below: Iris running out the front door, probably. "Could you tell me where you are?"

"One-ten Smithfield Street." Mia knelt down next to the man, feeling an irrational stab of grief. She hadn't known him, and between the fake suntan and the obnoxious orange patterned silk shirt, got the impression he'd been a shady character. But something in her was thinking of Diego.

Then it hit her. The man had been _stabbed_. "Oh, my God," she said aloud, forgetting that she was talking to an emergency dispatcher. "Oh, my God, she used a letter opener, not acid." A weapon already conveniently on the premises, so she didn't have to waste the one she already had.

"Ma'am, are you in any danger? I've alerted the police to your emergency. They'll be arriving in a few minutes, but you should leave the premises if you feel endangered."

The man moved, ever so slightly, and moaned. "He's still alive," Mia whispered, but she couldn't think over the pounding of her heart, didn't have a clue what to do. If Dahlia had done this before dawn, _where was she now?_

Mia could only think of one answer: and the clinic was almost two hours away by car. _Oh, my God. Phoenix and Diego._


	11. The Hospital

**Chapter Eleven: The Hospital**

* * *

><p>He wanted to blame the coffee, but it wasn't that. Diego sighed, rubbing his forehead, where the constant ache continued. He hadn't really been able to sleep in the last week or so: he'd caught an hour here or there, but never a full night.<p>

_Doesn't seem to make a difference, though_, he thought ruefully. After sleeping for ten months without even knowing it, perhaps he'd stocked up: he never felt tired, and in fact was going a bit mad from being stuck in the hospital, awake all day and night.

Still, if boring, it was at least peaceful this time of night. He had stripped to a t-shirt and gym shorts and dragged a chair to the window, and was drinking a lightly nutty brew while watching the moon rise, oddly colored through the lenses of the ugly device that allowed him to see. He hated the uncomfortable thing, but it was undeniably useful.

Suddenly his phone buzzed from the pocket of his trousers, draped over the end of the bed: technically he wasn't allowed to have one here, but with only a few days left before he was discharged, Mia had brought him one just in case. After all, no one was likely to notice. He pulled it from the pocket, not recognizing the number, and answered quietly. "Yes?"

"Diego, she's going to try and kill you," said Mia's voice, the words coming in a rush. "My car is gone, and when I called Hazakura, Sister Bikini said Iris has been there all day. It _wasn't Iris_ I picked up at the train station this morning."

Diego frowned. "I don't understand, Kitten. Where are you calling from?"

"A pay phone!" Mia yelled, and he felt a chill at the panic in her voice. "Iris and I—except it _wasn't_ Iris—went to the loan office and found him dead, and she must have stolen my car keys, because my car is gone!"

"Mia, calm down," said Diego, rubbing between his eyes. "Did she steal your cell phone, too? What's—"

"I'm two hours away by car and this happened at _ten-thirty_," she cried, and began to sob. The very sound of it made Diego feel a little panicky himself. "I called for an ambulance, but when they got here, the police confiscated my phone, and questioned me, but they wouldn't listen, and oh, my God, Dahlia could be there _right now!"_

Diego glanced over at the wall clock: it was twenty minutes before one. And it was then that he heard footsteps in the hallway.

Diego knew instinctively that the he footsteps didn't belong to any of the nurses, aides, or orderlies: all of the employees he'd met had either been men or robust women. These belonged to a very small, slight person—female, given the soft _clip _of heels—and sounded familiar, like someone he'd heard in the last forty-eight hours...

"Mia, stay calm," he said to her quietly, darting catlike to the door. He didn't know how she'd gotten in, past the night guard and through the card-access door. But it was her. "I'll call you back in a few minutes, all right? Stay near the pay phone."

"No, wait—" he heard her wail before he hung up on her, not without a faint sense of guilt. She was _here_; the bitch was here, and Mia and Iris were both safely far away. That was all that mattered.

The footsteps neared his door; peering out through the crack, he felt his heart shudder and skip a beat at the sight of her, clearly silhouetted against the night lights of another room.

And in an instant, she was gone, moving confidently down the hall: perhaps she wasn't after him. There was only one other reasonable option. _Oh, Jesus_, he thought, thinking of the tears on Iris's face and wondering if he could just yell for the night guard. _No, by the time they arrive, she'll have slipped out_. It was either alert security to save Wright, and risk chasing her out of the building—or go after her himself, and try to get her arrested, too.

No choice there. He slipped out the door, following her as silently as he could. The tiles of the hallway were cold beneath his bare feet, and he moved from shadow to shadow. The hallway wasn't that long: but she obviously had been relying on finding a name tag on the doors. She passed the room her sister's boyfriend was in, and reached the far nurse's station without stopping; he wondered if her angelic little face was marred by a scowl of frustration. She would have to go room by room to find anyone. _Maybe she's looking for me after all..._

Fury burst through him, and as she turned tentatively into the last door in the hallway, he slipped into Phoenix Wright's room. "Mary, mother of God," he whispered furiously, trying and failing to think. _How did she find this facility? How did she get in? Why did she wait this long?_

The moonlight wasn't bright enough in this room for him to see by, but the night light was on over the bed. The young man blearily looked up at him, blinking and dumbfounded. Evidently he wasn't sleeping, either. Diego felt an irrational urge to put a finger to his lips, although the kid couldn't even talk.

A thread of self-irritation started streaming through him: if she came in, what would he do, dig a syringe out of the sharps box and stab her? Diego cursed under his breath, remembering the stolen acid and wishing he had a plan. If she were going to use the acid, it was hard to imagine blocking a thrown vial brimming with vitriol: and if she were after Phoenix Wright, he was more or less a sitting duck regardless of her weapon.

"Fuck that, kid," he whispered, and the young man's eyes popped wide open. He knelt down next to the bed; Wright stared at him, confused and exhausted but obviously lucid. "Your killer girlfriend is here. We're doing a Michael Corleone, but without the nurse."

Perhaps the reference was lost, perhaps not: Diego felt like a nutjob even saying it, but it was the easiest way of explaining what had to happen. _The only difference is,_ he thought, biting his lip, _we can't just shove the bed down the hall, because they're already here_.

He went to the door and gingerly ducked his head into the hall as her footsteps slowed down, watched her slip into another room. Damn it! Back to the bed. "We have to get you out of here," he whispered. "Down the hall, to my room, or out to the guard's desk. _Can I do that?"_

The young man stared at him for a moment; then, ever so slowly, he nodded.

Well, disconnecting all the machines would set off an alarm. Diego ducked under the bed, and yanked several cords from their power sockets. It occurred to him, a moment before doing so, that alarms might blare even then: that would call security, wouldn't it? Maybe that would be a good thing.

But nothing happened, just the soft wheeze of the machines powering down. He got to his feet again, hoping to God that the kid hadn't immediately died. No, he was all right: busy yanking the pulse monitor from his trembling hand and (with great relish) the breathing hose from his own throat.

"You okay?" Diego asked, feeling a bit of admiration, helping him pull the IVs from his arms and unstick the EKG patches from underneath the hospital gown. Wright's eyes were huge as he wheezed for air, exercising a long-unused diaphragm, but he nodded feebly, giving an A-ok sign with one hand even as blood welled in the crook of his bony elbow. "Good, let's go."

He leaned over and lifted the kid out of the bed with almost no effort; Wright was almost his own height but frighteningly underweight. Diego had once carried a sleeping Mia from his car into her apartment, when they'd been out late, dancing: although she was slim, he remembering struggling to balance her unconscious form, and he certainly wasn't struggling now. _God, I can feel every one of his ribs!_

He stepped toward the doorway, praying that Dahlia wouldn't step in at that exact moment; peering around the corner, he waited until she appeared. _Jesus, that's only two doors down!_ He could feel Wright's breath on his shoulder, coming thin and ragged through the tracheotomy incision, and his own heartbeat thudded so loudly that she must be able to hear them both.

As soon as she went into the room just next to them, Diego bolted, moving on the balls of his feet as quickly as he could, down the hallway. Thoughts crowded in quickly now: _To the security desk? No, gotta get the door open. But if she finds him in my room, it'll be no better. What'll she think of the empty bed back there? Maybe I should have let Mia call the cops. God, why aren't there any nurses in this hallway?_

Her footsteps pattered suddenly behind him, and he realized she'd seen them. Before he could think what he was doing, he ducked into his own room, unceremoniously dumped Wright into the bed, limbs a-tangle, and stepped into the shadows next to the door.

_I bought us only a few seconds_, he thought furiously. _Why, why, why didn't I just call for security? I'm such an idiot! _

The footsteps slowed, then paused; Diego could hear his own embarrassingly labored heartbeat, the high-pitched whistling of Wright's breath as he struggled to his elbows, the faint beep of machines up and down the hall, the susurrus of wind through trees outside. There was one soft click of her heels, then two. She stepped carefully through the door, backlit by the soft blue-green lights of the hallway.

"Feenie, is that you?" she whispered sweetly, and a thrill of rage ran through him. He saw Wright's eyes grow huge with disbelief, and the kid shrank back: the girls were twins in every way, but he knew who this one was. "It's me, Dollie."

He couldn't see clearly, but it seemed like she carried something behind her back. _Please, please, let it not be a gun_, Diego thought, and leapt for her.

He managed to catch her by one wrist, but she was too quick for him to snatch the other. She slapped at him left-handed as they struggled silently, both panting. Her nails clawed his face, and just before he managed to see that she held an open vial in her right hand, the nails caught his goggles and ripped them from his face.

They clattered across the floor, leaving him in total darkness. "Oh, what the hell," he said aloud, and yanked her right arm up, showering them both with the liquid in the vial.

He was substantially taller than her, and his t-shirt took most of the damage, although a few drops struck his hand and neck. But she shrieked, an unearthly, wordless, shrilly sound that nearly deafened him at such close proximity, and wrenched her wrist from his. He felt the acid burn his own skin and knew, a little horrified, that it must have struck much more of her exposed face and shoulders.

From somewhere down the hall, a voice started yelling: the night security guard. He couldn't see a thing, but Dahlia was still screaming in agony quite nearby, and he thrashed out, trying to find her again. There was a fumbling across the room, and he heard his own coffee cup bash to pieces on the floor. Diego knew she must be trying to get out the window—it was only a one-story building—and tried to go after her, flailing like a fool to get his bearings.

By the time he found the window—in the process, bashing his knee painfully off a nearby chair and stepping on the shattered coffee cup—it was open and she was gone. She was no longer screaming, but he could hear her panting, growing fainter as the rustling of her footsteps faded.

"What the hell?" said someone behind him, the security guard. "How did you get down here?"

Diego ignored the woman, and slammed his fists on the window, ignoring the pain and the cold and the smell of his own shirt being eaten by the acid. "Damn it, damn it, damn it!" he roared at the fading sounds of panicked flight, striking the sill repeatedly. "You can't hide now, you evil bitch!"


	12. Picking Up The Pieces

**Chapter Twelve: Picking Up The Pieces**

* * *

><p>The phone rang: Mia fell off the sofa with a squeak. It continued to ring, insistently. Well, if it were the police, they would have just barged in. Again. She reached up for the phone with a trembling hand.<p>

"Mia!" exploded her sister's furious voice, and she almost dropped the phone. "Mia Fey, what the heck is wrong with you? I just got a call from a _hospital_ since apparently you haven't been to see Diego since Tuesday morning, which is _two days ago._"

There was an ominous pause, then Maya yelled, "AND YOU NEVER EVEN TOLD ME HE WAS ALIVE!"

Mia burst into strangled laughter, causing further explosions on the other end of the line, and breathed out a shaky sob of relief. "Maya..."

"I'm going to _kill_ you!" said her sister furiously. "I'd say stay where you are and I'll be there, but I'm _three hours away by train!_ What is going on? And you'd better tell the truth, or I'll... I'll... I'll channel Mystic Ami and make her haunt you!"

The relief of hearing someone angrily care about her was too much, and Mia felt tears springing to her eyes. "Maya," she said huskily, then cleared her throat. "Oh, Maya. I'm sorry. I really am. I _couldn't_ tell you about Diego, and I called off work after I saw him and locked myself in my apartment, I guess I forgot about everything... I'm really sorry." More like she and Iris had been hiding for two days, but whatever.

"Well, tell him, not me," said Maya, obviously worried but still trying to sound grumpy. "What happened? I mean, it's gotta be serious."

"Yeah. The girl who killed Diego... well, poisoned him... Iris and I tried to catch her on Monday. And failed. And it got screwed up big time, so we had to run away. The police are really angry with us." _I sound like a little kid_, Mia thought, with some annoyance, and sniffled back her tears, climbing onto the sofa.

Maya was silent for a second. "Oh," she finally said. "Is Iris there with you? I called up to Hazakura to say Hi, but Sister Bikini says Iris was there all day Monday and she left the day after..."

"Yeah, she's here," Mia said. She got up and looked into her bedroom, where Iris was sleeping: it was like being punched in the stomach. "I asked her to spend the night..."

When the police had finally let her go _sans_ cell phone, she'd left and tried to run outside after Iris, had even walked up and down the street shouting her cousin's name, before going back to her car. But of course Iris had taken it: she hadn't been Iris at all, but Dahlia. _I should have known_, she thought, furious with herself. _Iris never carries a purse, and she hardly said anything... but they looked so alike!_

She sniffled again, just glad to think of what Diego had managed to do. He hadn't caught Dahlia, or gotten her arrested... but horrible as it might be, she would never masquerade as Iris again. And maybe now they could track her down if she ever visited a plastic surgeon. Mia put a hand to her forehead, feeling ill. "I can't believe how reckless I've been. I'd... I'd better go to work tomorrow, and go see Diego..."

"Not at the hospital," Maya said, a note of cheerfulness entering her voice. "He said he's getting out tomorrow, but it's hush-hush. He'll be at his flat all day, relaxing."

A spark of hope brushed Mia's heart, and she stood up, the blanket that was wrapped around her falling to the floor as she reached over to pick up a half-empty pizza box from the coffee table. She carried it to the trash, trying to think. "Maya... would you mind...?"

There was a huffing sound at the other end of the line, then Maya said, "Of _course_ I'll come visit you. As long as you promise to make up with Diego and go back to work and take care of Iris. And don't cry. No crying, or I'm staying right here in Kurain."

Mia sniffled, smiling at her thirteen-year-old sister's sudden burst of maturity, and brushed the pizza crumbs from her usually-clean bathrobe. "Okay. I'll do that. Maya... thanks for calling. I owe you."

"Of course," Maya said breezily, although obviously relieved. "Hey, I know: bring me a burger when you meet me at the train!"

* * *

><p>Two days later, Diego announced to Mia that he was going to become a prosecutor. Stunned at first, she eventually allowed herself to be argued around to it. It would certainly allow them greater access to police information: and after all, he didn't really have another option. "It'd be awhile before I could open my own practice, but in the meantime, I certainly can't go back and work for old Marvin," he said, laughing. "I find I've got a much shorter fuse these days: the old man might get a hot cup of coffee in the face, and that'd leave you in a very awkward position."<p>

He had then sighed, and added, "Besides all that, though... I think my days of defending criminals are at an end. Whatever passion I had for it is gone." Mia felt a chill... but she knew what he meant.

Already short-staffed and thrilled at the prospect of retaining an attorney who had been even mediocre as a defender, the prosecution department gave him an office, a very respectable salary, and a massive pile of small-time felonies and misdemeanors. Mia was relieved at the latter: she was more than happy to see Diego taking innocuous cases and staying away from the creepers.

In the meantime, he'd also decided not to bother with an identity change, which infuriated the paper-pushers of the police team to no end. They felt as if each and every person admitted to a witness-protection facility should undergo an identity change upon discharge.

"I wouldn't do it, either," Mia said now defiantly, although she knew he was refusing more out of stubbornness than for a real reason. He put an arm around her shoulder and twirled a loop of her hair around his finger. They had retired to her apartment, since his had been rented out since August, and neither of them felt an inclination to live separately just yet, anyway.

He shrugged, his other hand ever so lightly running up and down her thigh. Mia rarely wore pantyhose, especially in the summer, and those sensitive, drifting fingers were giving her chills. "If I were wanted by a mob, it might be a different story," Diego said, somewhat dryly. "One little girl isn't going to scare me into changing my whole life, living a lie until we catch her. And I get the feeling she'll be out of the picture for a while."

Mia nodded thoughtfully. "Very true. I'd almost feel sorry for her if I didn't also think a burned face will just make her angry."

"Nothing more dangerous than a wounded predator, hmm, Kitten?" he said softly, dark eyes fixed on her legs. Mia knew that he deeply regretted throwing the acid in Dahlia's face. "_I could smell her skin burning_," he'd said the next morning, expression blank.

Mia had reassured him, time and time again, that there had been no other option. _Or at least not by that point_, she thought regretfully. Mia didn't know what went on in Diego's head sometimes: why hadn't he just called for security? Why had he gone and pulled that crazy stunt, dragging poor Phoenix down the hallway to use him as bait for an ambush? Given, that half-hour spent detached from wires and hoses seemed to have done Phoenix a world of good: when Mia had stopped in briefly, he had been alert, although agitated, and had asked to speak with Iris. So Diego's batshit plan had reaped at least one positive result.

But when he spoke, often it was in circular patterns, or in metaphorical phrases that _almost_ made sense. She knew that if Diego were torturing himself about something, he'd do it forever. Mia ran her fingers over his face now, his beard neatly trimmed to hide the tiny acid scars, and turned his face up to hers for a kiss. "Be that as it may, changing your name won't keep her from finding you. Unless you have plans to move to New York."

He shuddered dramatically, and trailed his hand up under the hem of her skirt, squeezing the back of her thigh. "Yikes. We'd freeze to death."

"Not likely, if you continued to molest me like this," Mia said, a little breathlessly. She let herself slide off the arm of the couch, and he caught her neatly. "So... tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow," he said, with great satisfaction, and kissed her so long and hard that she thought she'd never breathe again.

* * *

><p>They were unloading stuff out of the few boxes he'd brought to the prosecution offices, when a knock sounded at the door. "Prosecutor," came a stiff voice. "I wanted to welcome you to our offices."<p>

Mia didn't turn at first, and she saw Diego tense next to her. Both of them knew that voice. His eyes were furious behind his new mask: she'd teased that he looked like a three-slice toaster wearing it, but at least she could see his eyes from close up.

Finally, Diego turned. "Why, thanks," he said coolly. "It's quite an honor to be welcomed by the up-and-coming young Edgeworth."

The younger man flushed, his face going hard as he crossed his arms. Mia looked him over: a better suit than before, not quite so ornamental, but still that dreadful shade of magenta, and he still wore his hair in those horrid symmetrical bangs. He stood in the doorway, shadowing the light from the corridor, looking like he wanted to be anywhere else. "I... well..."

"How's your friend Miss Foster doing nowadays, kid?" Diego continued, as if Edgeworth hadn't said a word. "I hear she's been giving the police _loads_ of work."

"Stop it," snapped Edgeworth. "That was a mistake. I'm very sorry for what happened to you and others, but we didn't know."

"Sure, and all the Manhattan police didn't know David Berkowitz hated brunettes," Diego retorted.

Mia, tired of listening to them bicker, punched him. As he exclaimed, she said, "Oh, shut up, that didn't hurt. Listen, Edgeworth." She stepped close, and the young man visibly recoiled, although he towered over her. "You two have to work together now, and you'd _better_ get along. You owe us that much." She glared at Diego. "And you've had your fun. Behave, before I volunteer to defend someone against you, _Prosecutor_."

He laughed, as Edgeworth glowered. One thing Mia could always say about Diego—he might be a little hotheaded, and had more than his share of arrogance, but he knew when he had lost. "All right, all right, Kitten. I'll behave... as long as the Boy Wonder does the same."

"Why, you—"

"I'm _messing_ with you, kid," Diego said, exasperated. "Have a sense of humor, why don't you?"

Edgeworth's mouth compressed. "Quite," he said coolly.

Then his eyes flicked to Mia, and widened. She realized he was staring at her wedding ring, and resisted the impulse to put her hands behind her back. After all, the hand with which Diego was drinking his coffee currently sported a matching gold band, and he certainly didn't care what Edgeworth thought.

"Anything else?" Diego said, with a hint of _You're cutting into my time, kid_.

Edgeworth glared: it seemed to be his default setting. "No. Enjoy your misdemeanors, Mr. Armando," he snapped, and whirled to leave.

Mia sighed. "I'll be back in a minute," she said, and left Diego—shaking his head—to continue unpacking.

"Edgeworth!" she called after him. "Wait up!"

His shoulders hunched, as if he was afraid of her: it occurred to Mia that he might well be. Then he turned, and his hard expression exasperated her again. "Yes, Miss Fey? Or is it Mrs. something now?"

"You'd best stick with Miss Fey," she said crisply. "We wear the rings, but officially my husband died last year, so I haven't changed my name. The justice who married us had to be convinced by your friend Detective Gumshoe that it was even legal."

"Oh," said Edgeworth, and blushed. He had obviously spoken just to irritate her, not expecting her to answer so frankly. "Er... congratulations."

Mia burst out laughing, and he glowered again. "Relax, Edgeworth. I'm not going to torture you for much longer. And please ignore my... ah... Prosecutor Armando. He's like that to everyone, not just you." Before long, she thought, he would probably start taping _Crime Scene: No Entry_ banners across the restroom doors and spraying shaving cream in abandoned coffee cups.

"So did you need to speak to me about something?" Edgeworth asked coolly. Mia was tempted to sayno, just to annoy him: he could be a supercilious little prick sometimes.

But the eagerness that had seized her at first hearing his voice came back, and she went on. "Yes. It's on behalf of a friend, actually. He said you knew one another when you were children." Edgeworth frowned uncertainly, and Mia prompted, "His name is Phoenix Wright."

His expression was inscrutable: did he look displeased? Confused? Maybe a little bit happy? That face, obviously unused to most pleasant expressions, hid everything. Finally Edgeworth said, very neutrally, "What does he want?"

Mia paused: she could hardly admit the young man's long-term quest to save Edgeworth, lest she make him look like an idiot. She herself had almost laughed at first. But now she knew better: and Iris hadn't told her much else, hadn't even known where the two boys had met.

Mia decided it couldn't hurt to invent a little: after all, she knew more than enough about the young prosecutor. "He just wanted to get in touch again. He says you were always kind of a loner, that you probably haven't had time for friends lately. And this is just my opinion, but I think it would be nice for him to have a visitor besides Iris. Phoenix has been very..."

Halfway through saying _very ill_, Mia caught herself, staring at Edgeworth. Was he still involved in Dahlia's case? She didn't know who would prosecute if the case were solved: would it be Edgeworth himself? She blurted, "Did you know he was dating Dahlia Hawthorne?"

Edgeworth started, looking so horrified that she almost looked away, as if he'd suddenly ripped away his clothing as well as the inscrutable expression. "What! You mean... Wright?"

"Yes," Mia said, her mouth dry. "This is... I mean, this is all confidential information, but you can know. He dated Dahlia in college, and just this February, she poisoned him. He just started recovering recently."

With white lips, Edgeworth said robotically, "He was one of the Ivy University students. I thought the second victim's face looked familiar."

"Yes." He looked so white that Mia he would faint, and she reached forward to touch his sleeve. "Are you all right?"

"Fine," he said automatically. Then his eyes flicked to her. As he realized how very obvious his expressions were, the color came back to his cheeks, and he moved away from her hand. "Ah... well, I haven't really spoken to him for years..." he said, stammering a bit.

"Please get in touch with him, Edgeworth," she said softly. "I know there's something you can't tell me: some reason you're trying not to remember him. And God knows you have reasons not to like me, either. But it'd mean the world to him if you stopped by, or even just phoned. Please."

His mouth worked, his eyes taking a hunted appearance. But finally he answered tightly, "All right."

"And in the meantime," Mia said, as he turned to walk away, "I'll try to stay out of your way, but... if you need to talk with someone, you know where to find me." She felt an absurd temptation to start singing, _If you need me, call me, no matter where you are, I'll be there in a hurry_, but figured he probably wouldn't take it well.

His shoulders hunched again, and Mia sighed. She thought he would probably stay true to his word and contact Phoenix, but it was so difficult to imagine anything good coming of it.


	13. Endless Questions

**Chapter Thirteen: Endless Questions**

* * *

><p>It took Iris forever to decide what she would do. She and Mia had talked some, when hiding out in Mia's apartment, about what to do next, their fears and worries. And they had decided that they were done 'investigating': from now on, if they heard anything about Dahlia, they would run in the opposite direction. But mostly Iris had waited for the opportunity to go back to Sister Bikini, whose cheerful matter-of-factness had finally calmed her down, and allowed her to pray.<p>

On the one hand, Phoenix had almost been killed or maimed by her sister, and she wanted desperately to see if Mia was right: that he was already much improved. On the other hand, her throat ached with her own unworthiness: in all likelihood, she had broken his heart, and better health wouldn't change his mind about that. Why, oh, why hadn't she just waited another week? Or why hadn't Dahlia come and tied her up a day earlier?

Finally, she gave in. _I promised not to bother him again_, she said to herself firmly, _but this will be the last time. I'll go back to Hazakura forever, if that's what he wants_.

Mia no longer had permission to visit the facility, and in any case Iris had been too ashamed to ask for a ride. She got out of the taxi, walked to the entrance of the facility, and made her way inside in a state of total numbness.

She didn't know what she planned to say. In the movies, the girl who had pretended to like the guy and then fell in love with him always won him in the end, even when he found out. But Phoenix wasn't like most guys. His two weak spots of hatred were backstabbers and poisoners, both of whom he considered below contempt. Iris felt a hysterical little giggle escape: she and her sister, the two kind of women he would hate the most.

Iris had fled back to Hazakura after seeing Phoenix last time, that Sunday morning, and had heard the phone ringing as she was walking towards the bridge. It had sounded exactly like Mia: Dahlia must have practiced over and over again to catch the inflections of Mia's speech. She'd even managed to sound cheerful, which had merely indicated to Iris that Mia was as relieved as she herself was. After a three-hour train ride, Iris was more than happy to do evening prayers with Sister Bikini and not worry about getting back up in a few hours to ride back down to the city.

Meanwhile, poor, unknowing Mia had been alone with Dahlia from dawn until long after dusk that Monday. She'd been all but hysterical on the phone. Iris privately wondered why her sister hadn't killed Mia that day. Perhaps there had been too many witnesses? Or maybe she was only after Phoenix and Diego? It didn't make any sense.

As Iris began to enter Phoenix's room, a man came out of it, brushing her in passing. "I beg your pardon," he said disconcertedly, and strode off down the hallway. Iris frowned: she couldn't put a name either to his flushed, handsome face or to his oddly-colored three-piece suit, but he looked familiar.

At the present moment, she didn't really care. _Well, here goes_, she thought with a sigh of resignation, and walked in, her heart fluttering.

* * *

><p>She immediately saw that Phoenix was awake, the head of his bed raised so he could sit up and read one of the law books she'd forgotten. His thin arms were trembling with the strain of holding up the stupid, enormous thing. She wanted to run and kiss him for joy. Then he looked over and saw her, and his jaw dropped, along with the book.<p>

"It's you," he said, voice a little husky from the repairs made to his trachea, but otherwise exactly the same as she'd dreamed. The bandage on his throat bobbed as he swallowed. "Your hair."

"Oh," Iris said, remembering. She put a hand to her head, blushing. "This... this is my real color. Mia helped me dye it back on Tuesday... if truth will out, I hated red anyway."

Why had she bothered to say all that? It was a stupid hair dye job, done only to help divorce her from the Dollie with whom Phoenix had been in love, and Dahlia, who'd tried to kill him. He stared at her, as if seeing her for the first time. Iris began to say something, but realized she had nothing to tell him, and dipped her head uncertainly.

"Iris," Phoenix said at last, and her heart thrilled when he said her name, tasting it on his lips for the first time. "All that time I knew you, and the only thing you lied about was your name and hair color."

"Yes," she whispered. He was still thin enough that his cheekbones looked sharp enough to slice cheese, and his frowsy black hair was an absolute train wreck: but he looked much more like her Feenie than before.

She took his extended hand, and sat on the bed next to him. He leaned sideways against her, resting his head on her shoulder. "Yeah," he murmured into her shirt. "It's you." Startled, she laughed, and felt the bite of hysterical tears; she gulped, trying to hold them back. Their joined hands rested in her lap, and she ran a hand up his arm, feeling the veins beneath his skin and the knobby prominence of the fragile bones. How had he even held up that book?

At last he said, more quietly, "Iris... I'm really sorry. You were the first person who would tell me anything after I woke up. I should have been grateful to hear the truth."

The seriousness of his tone was in total opposition to the old Phoenix, who had been passionate and starry-eyed to the point of silliness. But Iris felt her tears drying, and shook her head, knowing that if he'd changed, it was for the better: for both of them. "No, you were right to be upset," she whispered. "I should have told you months ago, Feenie."

He said nothing, just struggled upright and put his arms around her, almost collapsing against her with the effort. She buried her face in his hair; he smelled of hospital soap and slightly less pleasant things, and she could hardly feel anything under his hospital gown except joints and sinew, as if she were hugging a skeleton.

And in that moment, even as she couldn't have felt happier if she'd tried, Iris knew why Dahlia hadn't attempted to kill Mia or herself that day, and why she'd used a knife on a total stranger in order to conserve the acid for attacking Phoenix. Because to really hurt her most hated enemies, murdering them wouldn't work: Dahlia would try to hurt the ones they loved.


	14. Turnabout Beginnings

~ PART II ~

_~ Three and a half years later ~_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Fourteen: Turnabout Beginnings<strong>

"Yay!" Maya squealed. "I can't believe you're really taking me to one of your cases, Sis!"

"Me neither," Mia answered dryly, as her little sister stepped through the courthouse metal detector with nary a beep. No surprise: Maya rarely carried anything with her, and there was no metal in the outfit of a spirit medium. "But I've been promising to bring you along for... how long now?"

"_Forever_," said Maya dramatically, and they linked arms. "So what's this case again? A murder? Arson? Robbery?"

Mia laughed at her sister's imagination, steering Maya up the sweeping staircase and toward the courtrooms. "Good grief, no. It's a municipal dispute. I'm arguing that the local nuisance ordinance is constitutional, and that the police officer's citation against the landlord was sufficient. It's only in the courthouse because the magistrate's office building is under construction."

"Bor-ing," said Maya, whose eyes had glazed over within a sentence. She looked around, her eyes eagerly settling on a policeman escorting a handcuffed man who wore an orange jumpsuit. "Why don't you have fun cases, Mia?"

"I do. But I'd rather have boring cases. Hopefully, someday all I'll have is civil suits," Mia answered, amused by Maya's idea of 'fun.' She hadn't voluntarily taken more than a dozen dramatic cases since starting her own firm last year, and quite liked it that way.

"Is that where people are civil to each other?"

Mia had to keep from snorting with laughter at Maya's question: she'd wondered exactly the same thing before going through law school. "No, actually..." She proceeded to explain the difference between civil and criminal suits, although she knew Maya was only half-listening, nodding vigorously as she scanned the crowds at the courthouse, looking for dangerous criminals. "I guess the biggest difference is that civil trials end in money, whereas crim—"

"Prosecutor Armando!" Maya cried, and leapt away to dash across the lobby and plaster herself against Diego's vest.

Mia smiled as he hugged Maya back, grinning. After a long period of eyebrow-wiggling and devious expressions, Maya had finally resigned herself to saying her brother-in-law's title with as little meaningfulness as possible. It amused him to no end, since he could hardly keep a straight face when _he_ had to say it.

"First case, huh?" Diego was saying, ruffling Maya's hair, making her squeak and duck away. Mia felt a little tender spot in her heart throb: she'd never imagined that they could be best friends, but they were. "Ah, you should come to my murder case this afternoon, I bet the one you're going to is as boring as he—yyyy, Madame Attorney! Didn't see you there." Maya giggled as he pretended to be embarrassed.

"Hello, Sir Prosecutor," Mia said, smiling sweetly at him, and reached up to adjust his tie. "Yes, it's her first case, and yes, it's boring. At least to those of you who prefer hanging out with the city's criminal underbelly."

"I live on the edge, Kitten," he said slyly, and quickly kissed her. As Mia wriggled free, Maya gave a wolf whistle through her teeth, and Diego aimed a mock slap at her. "Hey, I've gotta go. Luck with your case, Maya."

"I'll make sure she wins!" Maya called after him, still giggling.

"Come on," Mia said to her sister, watching Diego's green shirt recede into the throng, wishing he hadn't kissed her even as her lips tingled in pleasure. "Even if it's a boring case, I can't be late."

* * *

><p>As they neared the courtroom in which her own trial was to take place, she noticed her old friend Detective Gumshoe shouting at someone—she wouldn't even have needed eyes to notice him, either. "Let me tell you, pal," he was saying menacingly as they approached, "you won't wheedle anything out of me! Maybe if you worked for somebody respectable, but probably not even then!"<p>

Mia smiled to herself. She'd heard that line before: usually about fifteen seconds before Gumshoe scratched the back of his head sheepishly and handed her a confidential, prosecution-only autopsy report. She didn't even notice who he was yelling at: her mind was still preoccupied with Diego, the wish that he hadn't kissed her.

They hadn't really thought about the difficulties of trying to keep their marriage a secret, when they'd gone through with it. It wasn't forbidden—or even discouraged, really—for prosecutors to date defense attorneys, but somehow they'd both felt uncomfortable enough that they'd agreed to try and keep their marriage quiet.

Cohabiting was easy: they both usually worked late nights, and tried to arrive at the courthouse separately. But absence and abstinence alike, Mia thought unhappily, really did make the heart grow fonder. They'd lasted a very long time before the wrenching need to be affectionate in public beat out their caution. And Mia couldn't even blame Diego: his slim hand had been urging her to enter a courtroom during one of their mutual trials—right at the beginning of her solo career—and she'd involuntarily looked up.

From that strange angle, through the red lenses of his silver mask, she'd seen his eyes, lazy-lidded and dark: how could she resist kissing him, with her heart already thrumming in nervous excitement?

"Miss Fey!" She started, Gumshoe suddenly looming in front of her with a huge and absurdly joyous grin. She had a moment to remember his face on the first day he'd ever seen her (_My__heart__—__it__'__s__throbbing__for__you!_) before he seized her hand. "Miss Fey, I haven't seen you in forever!"

"What do you mean? I'm always around the courthouse, Detective," she said, startled.

"Well, yeah, but I never get to talk to you, pal," Gumshoe said encouragingly. "How are you and your... um... well, my boss, I guess?"

Mia barely managed to change her snort of laughter into a ladylike sniff. Her daytime alienation with Diego was so profound that his subordinates rarely saw her. "Fine, thank you. And you, Detective: I hear you're a concrete wall of stubbornness when it comes to giving away..."

She trailed off, halfway through teasing him about wheedled autopsy reports, when she saw who he'd been berating a moment before. At first her mind was blank; _I__know__this__person_ was all she could think. Then the name hit her like a freight train, and she felt like staggering.

Phoenix Wright grinned at her, a little nervously, and waved. "Hi, Miss Fey."

He eagerly stuck out a thin hand to shake hers, and Mia automatically took it. Her mind raced: had he been forced to change his name? She remembered vaguely that just like Diego, he'd put up a fight against it, but couldn't recall if he'd won. "Good morning. Nice to see you again, Mr. ...?"

"Wright," he said, still grinning. So apparently he, too, had stubbornly refused to go through with the identity change. Mia felt a simultaneous burst of irritation and chagrin, since his reticence probably worried Iris... but then, Mia wasn't exactly sure about that. She hadn't spoken to Iris in what seemed like forever, and for all Mia knew, the two weren't even dating anymore. She caught herself glancing at his left hand: no, not married.

"Wait, you know Ms. Fey?" Gumshoe demanded, suddenly looming over her protectively. Mia felt an urge to elbow the detective away, but couldn't find the necessary meanness to do so.

"Yeah, we've met," said Phoenix cheerfully. She had hardly recognized him: he was still unhealthily thin, but his handsome face was a ruddy sunbeam of confidence, his hair carefully combed into a ridiculous array of spikes (as was the fashion nowadays), and he was attired in a crisp blue suit and a red power tie. _No,_ she realized, blinking, _it__'__s__pink!_

His fantastically improved health was only belied by the single ringed crutch he leaned upon like an off-balance stork. "It's been about four years, right? How are you doing, Miss Fey?" Phoenix asked.

"Just fine," Mia said, recovering her composure. "And you?"

He shrugged. "As long as my dumb luck holds, I'm doing great, Miss Fey. I don't think we've been introduced, though."

Mia realized his last statement had been directed towards Maya, who had been watching the whole exchange with great interest and an unmistakable glint in her eye. "This is my younger sister, Maya Fey. Maya, this is Phoenix Wright. You know, Iris's... um..."

"Nice to meetcha," Maya said, plowing through Mia's confusion with a huge smile and a traditional Kurain bow that made her hair dip over her face. She straightened, and tilted her head cutely, giving him a look from under her eyelashes. "Do you get any murders or fun cases, Nick, or is your life as boring as Mia's? Can I call you Nick, is that okay?"

Mia was astonished to see Phoenix blush. She hadn't realized Maya's talent for backhanded flirting, and glared (unheeded, of course) at her sister. "Um, sure. But I'm still just a law student."

"Which is why," Gumshoe finally butted in, somewhat ominously, "you are NOT getting that autopsy report from me, pal! I trust you as far as I could throw you!"

"Ooh, an autopsy report?" breathed Maya. "What's it from, Detective?"

"From a murder case," said Gumshoe proudly, and without even asking Mia knew he'd been assigned to the investigation. "It's an airtight case for the prosecution, pal!" Which also meant, Mia thought, that Gumshoe would be testifying as the crime scene expert. She hoped Diego wasn't the prosecutor: the detective's irregular testimonies drove him into insane fits of fury, and apparently the most recent one had ended with the detective nursing severe coffee burns.

"Oh, how exciting!" Maya said, to all outward appearances totally sincere. Gumshoe once again looked terribly proud of himself. "So what happened, Detective? Was it the candlestick in the study? The rope in the dining room? The lead pipe in the conservatory?"

Gumshoe had a moment to look confused, missing the joke altogether. But he pulled out a rather ragged portfolio and opened it. "No, no, the defendant bashed the victim over the head with a little figurine that looked like the Thinker. You know, that big famous statue? Here, have a look."

"Ooh," Maya repeated, eyes wide as she gingerly accepted the autopsy report. Mia rolled her eyes: poor Gumshoe never cottoned on to her own tricks, either. Maya stepped backwards—eyes glued to the pages—to stand between Mia and Phoenix. With relief, Mia saw that Payne was the prosecutor. "How'd you figure it out?"

"Well," began Gumshoe, "let me tell you, pal, it wasn't just like switching on the kitchen light..." Mia watched as Maya very subtly leaned closer to Phoenix, giving him an excellent view of the autopsy report. Mia shook her head and sighed: it wasn't like Phoenix's seeing the report would do any harm, but it still felt a little mean.

Gumshoe suddenly trailed off warily, and his expression became mournful as he noticed all three of them perusing the document. "Hey," he said, "wait a second..."

"Well, thanks for letting me look at it!" Maya said quickly, thrusting the autopsy report back at him. "It's really cool the way you guys figure out all that scientific stuff. Er—Mia and I have to go to a trial. But it's a boring one, some kind of mooney... muni... money dispute? Something bor-ing. Maybe we can go out for burgers later, Detective!"

Mia laughed, as much at her sister's burger obsession as at her ability to verbally trample down any awkward situation. "Okay, okay. Maybe we'll go out for lunch. But she's right, we really do have to go," she said to Gumshoe, who had perked up somewhat at the suggestion of food. "Very nice to see you again, Detective!"

As Mia tugged Maya (still waving exuberantly and calling "Nice to see you!") down the hallway, Phoenix trailed after them. Seeing her expression, he explained, "I think my boss is against you for this case. The dispute over the nuisance citation, right?"

"Yes," Mia answered, wearily unsurprised at the coincidence. "You work for Mr. Grossberg?"

"Just for the summer, then part-time in the fall." He shuddered in a way that made her pause, but hastily added, "One more year of school, and I can start my own firm. If it hadn't been for that setback during my junior year of college, I'd probably be taking my own cases already."

Mia felt a pang. He was right: if not for Dahlia, he probably would have started Ivy University's law co-op program four months later, and would have finished law school already. Mia had done the exact same program.

"Well," Maya said encouragingly, throwing in her two cents' worth, "at least you're working with Mr. Grossberg. He probably pays you pretty well."

Phoenix made a face as they shoved through the courtroom doors. Hearing her old boss's name gave Mia a little lurch of guilt. She hadn't really talked to the old man outside a courtroom since Redd White had started blackmailing him, and since she'd found out that Grossberg had been the one to betray her mother. "Mmm, well... I'd rather work for someone who paid me less, but didn't... er... share so much," Phoenix said, then paused, flushing red. "Sorry. I shouldn't have said that. Mr. Grossberg is very... um... admirable."

Mia laughed, knowing exactly how he felt, and paused at gate into the litigation area as Maya sidled off to the public viewing seats. An idea was starting to grow in the back of her head, and she leaned closer and said quietly, "You go to Redbrick, right?"

He nodded. Looking around to make sure her soon-to-be opponent hadn't yet arrived, Mia said, "If you're really serious, if you'd like to work for someone else, I could use an intern. My office is about three blocks from here."

Now it was Phoenix's turn to stare. "Really?" he said at last, doubtfully but with an undertone of suppressed excitement that let Mia knew she'd already hired him. "During the school year, too?"

"Yup. You could walk from campus, and if you can fit me into your schedule, I need the help," Mia said firmly—and with perfect honesty. She hadn't known just how much work a solo law career was, and what was more, _Fey __& __Co._didn't command the same respectability as comparable firms that actually had more than one lawyer.

But this would be much better than taking on a partner, which she had been dreading: besides doing a ton of work for her, Phoenix could bring her office that bit of respectability, without forcing her to work with another attorney. That had been at least half of why she left Grossberg's office in the first place.

"Yes!" said Phoenix, and seized her hand excitedly. "That would be perfect, Miss Fey!"

Mia, trying not to laugh, saw Grossberg coming in, and hastily pulled her hand away. "Nice to see you again, Wright," she said, probably a bit too loudly.

Phoenix turned and, exclaiming while throwing up his hand to greet his soon-to-be-ex-boss, dropped a file folder. It hit the floor and promptly exploded, papers fluttering everywhere.

Shaking her head and finally laughing, Mia ducked behind her own bench, leaving him to awkwardly bend down and clean up the flurry of papers, as Grossberg puffed up the aisle to help, already talking about the scent of lemons. What had she gotten herself into? _Well_, she thought, _at __least __he __and __Maya __seem __to __get __along._


	15. Starting Over

**Chapter Fifteen: Starting Over**

* * *

><p>Mia won the case, of course: she hadn't yet lost an argument for the municipality. Her old boss had given the graceful impression that his argument for the defendant was mostly <em>pro<em>_forma_, but Mia was still grateful for the genuine politeness with which Grossberg conducted his arguments. Some of her municipal disputes turned into courtroom brawls.

As she was leaving the courtroom, someone tapped her on the shoulder: of course it was Phoenix, his brown eyes blazing with excitement. "When can I start?" he asked breathlessly.

"You're really sick of the hemorrhoid stories, aren't you?" Mia said, amused. Without waiting for an answer, she handed him the whopping accordion file she'd been lugging around. "Here: interrogatory responses for my next civil suit. Take them to the Prothonotary and get them filed, leave the original there, then deliver copies to Judge Verbena, or at least her clerk, and Peter Jameson... er... James Peterson? Whatever the guy's name is, his office is down on Walnut Street. The extra is mine. I've got a meeting in ten minutes, so just wait till Monday morning to bring me the copy."

"Okay," Phoenix said cheerfully, taking the folder and staggering under the weight of almost three reams of paper. She wondered briefly if he was physically fit for these kind of gallivanting missions, but the look on his face was anything but hesitant. "That's perfect, since I really want to be at Mr. Grossberg's trial this afternoon. Um... any advice for what I should tell him, by the way?"

Mia shrugged, re-shouldering her heavy carryall. "My office is closer to the courthouse?" she suggested. "You're looking to move into a different field of law? You're dating my cousin, and we're acquaintances, sort of friends?"

She had been throwing blind at a dartboard with the last question, but he blushed, shoulders slumping, and she felt guilty for having spoken so breezily. "Um... Iris and I aren't... together right now." His expression was guarded, but Mia saw confusion and wistfulness, too.

"I'm sorry," she said, trying to sound neutrally sympathetic although her heart pounded with pity. "Well, tell Mr. Grossberg it's my fault. Say I'm desperate and offering you more money, which I'm not, but it'd be more polite than saying you don't like listening to his tales of woe."

"True," Phoenix said with a wan grin, seeming to regain at least some of his confidence. "He seems to think it's rude to refuse. I'll see you at your office on Monday, Miss Fey!"

* * *

><p>That had been Friday morning: that night, Mia bought twin train tickets to Hazakura Temple, stopping at Kurain Village the next morning to pick up her sister. "I haven't seen Iris in sooooo long," said Maya dreamily, breathing on the glass next to her and drawing a heart in the fog. "She never comes to Kurain anymore."<p>

"Did she say why? I mean, do you know?" Mia asked. She was beginning to have a sick stomachache at the thought of speaking to Iris again, and was grateful Maya had agreed to come along. _Not __that __I __would __have __been __able __to __keep __her __from __coming_, Mia thought amusedly.

Maya frowned pensively, drawing a little arrow through the heart. "Not really. She said in one of her letters that she has sins to atone for, but I'm not really sure what that has to do with Hazakura." She yawned and stretched, obviously losing interest in the subject in light of the fact that they were approaching the train station. "Maybe she just got sick of Aunt Morgan being such a drag. I know I do, sometimes." She stood up and yanked her overnight bag from the overhead compartment.

Suddenly, as if she hadn't had four years to figure it out, Mia began to fully understand why her cousin (as Diego put it) had cloistered herself at Hazakura Temple, living as a barren sister, chanting faint hymns to the cold fruitless moon. _Oh, __Iris,_ she thought, wanting to weep.

* * *

><p>She had seen Iris briefly last year, dropping New Years' presents off at Hazakura: but the last time they'd really spoken had been almost two years ago. It had been June, over a year since Diego had returned to practice law, and Phoenix had finally finished his junior year at Ivy University.<p>

Iris had gone back to Hazakura, saying she had left Sister Bikini alone long enough: so Mia dropped by on one of her free weekends, not bothering to warn anyone in the city that she was leaving, or to tell any of the Feys that she was coming. She'd been walking up the path to the Main Hall, admiring all the beautiful flora cultivated in the gardens, when Iris had appeared, with an armful of mail for the post.

"Iris!" Mia had exclaimed, and run to hug her, and drew away to search her cousin's face: Iris was calm, perfectly untroubled, pale and beautiful as a magnolia blossom.

"Hello, Mia," said Iris serenely, and continued walking down the path. "I'm taking the mail out to the main entrance: would you like to come?"

"Sure," Mia said uncertainly, but followed along. She waited for Iris to say something, unable to herself come up with any subject they could talk about, but Iris remained silent, back straight and eyes fixed ahead. It was strange, Mia thought, that Iris looked so much prettier now that she had dyed her hair to black, her natural color. But her posture and face were empty and devoid of all emotion, as if she had burned every thought from her mind except the here and now.

Finally, Mia could take no more, and dredged up something she'd been meaning to tell her cousin for months. "So, Iris... I finally figured out how Dahlia knew. I mean, how she found out that we were planning to visit Tigre, and how she knew to stop you. Redd White, the guy who told us about her, had been poking around to see if the information I gave him was true. She must have gotten wind that we knew about the diamond."

_As __if __I __need __another __reason __to __hate __that __disgusting __man,_ Mia added to herself. Taking a breath, she said aloud, "I'm sorry I didn't think of it. And I'm so sorry you were put in danger."

"Oh, no," Iris answered, her sweet voice giving nothing away. "I knew what we were doing was wrong, but I participated anyway. Don't blame yourself."

And that was it. She continued walking ahead of Mia, sandals crunching on the gravel path. "Um," Mia ventured a bit desperately, "how is Phoenix doing?"

There was a brief hesitation, before Iris simply answered, "Fine."

Mia waited breathlessly, having heard a note of worry in her cousin's voice. At last Iris added, "He passed his junior year exams. I guess. His last letter said he's starting some kind of law classes in the fall, so he can skip the first year of law school."

_Letter?_ Mia wanted to yell. _What __happened __to __talking?_ But she swallowed her eagerness, and said carefully, "I did the same program. It's very stressful. Have you not had time to see each other?"

"Mmm... not really," said Iris, stepping to the mailbox and opening it. Mia saw her cousin's hands tremble as she placed the envelopes inside. She was lying.

Mia stepped forward and put a hand on Iris's arm, softly. There was no response: Iris closed the mailbox and stood, staring across the Eagle River bridge with no particular expression. "Iris," Mia said quietly. "Is something wrong? Please tell me."

* * *

><p>As Maya ran up the path now, gleefully yelling Iris's name, Mia remembered what her cousin had said: "<em>Everything <em>_is __wrong __when __I__'__m __near __him._" And with that rather cool remark, Iris had turned, and had stepped onto the bridge without another word, walking towards the Inner Temple.

At first Mia thought it had been Phoenix's refusal to change his name, but Iris had been so obviously, madly in love with him that it didn't seem like that would cause a serious break-up. And it seemed unlikely that their ardour had simply cooled: she'd seen the naked longing in Phoenix's face the day before.

Well... now she knew. _Or __at __least __I __think __I __do_, Mia mused, feeling a bit grim.

There was the double bubbling of girlish laughter ahead, in the Main Hall, and Mia smiled to herself. Well, Maya could always be counted upon to create laughter where there had been none.

"Oh, I've missed you too," she heard Iris say, giggling, as she rounded the pathway and went into the small side door. "And Sister Bikini will be glad to have a visitor!"

"Visitors," corrected Maya, and with a burst of completely illogical glee, added, "I brought Mia!"

Mia was glad of arriving in time to see Iris's reaction: her cousin's pale and beautiful face was all surprise at first; then joy; then fear. Finally she managed to arrange her features into a calm and blank mask of welcome... the same expression she'd last worn when speaking to Mia.

"You mean _I_ brought _you_, Maya," Mia said, trying unsuccessfully to sound casual.

"Nope," Maya contradicted cheerfully. "I got here first."

Unlike Mia, Iris hadn't gotten any fuller-figured since last they met, and when Mia stepped forward to hug her cousin tightly, she felt as if she were trying to embrace a willow branch. A sudden burst of emotion came over her, and as she moved away, trying to quickly wipe away the tears, she was astonished to see Iris doing the same, her nose reddened.

"I— I'm glad to see you again," Iris said shyly. She looked down and away, crossing her arms almost protectively over her chest. "Thank you for the birthday presents. I've never seen Sister Bikini so happy as when she opened the bath salts you sent."

"You're welcome," said Mia, watching her closely. She took her overnight bag and held it out to Maya. "Could you do me a favor, sis? Find Sister Bikini and ask if we can stay the night?"

Maya narrowed her eyes, obviously trying to figure out what Mia was up to. But Maya was always happy to get out of the way, if it meant she could pry later, and she gave up easily. "Fiiiine," she said, mock-grudgingly. "Where will I find her? The Inner Temple? Doing laps around the Main Hall? Practicing yoga in the den?"

Iris giggled, and Mia had to restrain a laugh at the thought of plump little Sister Bikini running laps. "None of those: she's in the kitchen making dinner."

"Okay! Be right back!" sang Maya ostentatiously, and dragged the bags away.

Mia waited until the doors were closed, then said quietly, "I hired a new intern yesterday."

Iris's head lifted, and her eyes met Mia's: they were filled with both hope and fear. Mia could see her hesitation. But finally Iris asked timidly, "Is it... it's Phoenix, isn't it?"

"Yes," Mia answered softly. "He seems very well, but... I mentioned you." She didn't even wait for Iris to ask the question, since it was begging and pleading from her dark eyes. "He didn't say, but I could tell that he misses you." She paused and added, "A lot."

She felt a little stab of guilt: could she really tell that? After all, she barely had more than a passing acquaintance with her new intern, despite the fact that her husband had saved his life years ago. But then she remembered his woeful expression, the way his shoulders had slumped. _Stupid: __of __course __you __could __tell_, she thought heatedly. _It __was __all __over __his __face._

Iris had turned away: she hadn't made any noise, but Mia knew she was crying, her shoulders straining and trembling to keep still. She wondered if it would be all right to hug Iris, but held back, uncomfortably wishing she hadn't asked Maya to leave.

At last Mia said tentatively, "Iris, I can't dance around it anymore. Unless you've changed very much since I met you, both you and Phoenix are still madly in love with one another. What's stopping you from... from..."

_From __being __together?_ she had been about to ask. But there was no need: she knew exactly why. Mia reached out and touched Iris's shoulder. "It's _because_ you love him, isn't it."

Iris looked back over her shoulder, eyes red, and nodded. "Of course," she said dully, tears dripping down her face. "She took away a whole year of his life. I just... I just want him to be happy. And he can't be happy if I'm there every day, reminding him of—of—"

As Iris burst into tears again, covering her face and sobbing, Mia finally enveloped her in a hug. "No, Iris," she said, pressing her cheek to Iris's braids and patting her back. "I really don't think Phoenix thinks of it that way. He mentioned her too, you know."

"He did?" said Iris, her voice muffled and miserable against Mia's shoulder.

"Not by name, but... he said if it hadn't been for 'that setback' his junior year, he would already be a lawyer."

"If it hadn't been for _me_," Iris said, sobbing.

"No, Iris," Mia gently said again. "It wasn't your fault. Phoenix knows that. I mean... I don't know him as well as you do, of course, but he just seems thrilled to be a lawyer, whatever it takes. Nothing could make him happier than to know you still love him. Even if, occasionally, it reminds him of something unpleasant."

Startled, she realized that she was at least half talking about Diego, too. "_Whatever __it __takes_," he had said, shrugging, when told he would have to constantly wear that hideous mask. "_Law __is __my __calling, __my __vocation. __I __couldn__'__t __give __it __up __for __something __as __silly __as __good __looks._" And she knew he still battled the bitterness of those lost months.

Without thinking, she said, "Diego and I know how that feels. When Terry Fawles killed himself, we could have died ourselves. I would have left the law altogether, if it hadn't been for Diego. Then he lost almost nine months thanks to Dahlia. By the time I met you, I'd become so obsessed with finding Dahlia that... well, it had become unhealthy."

Iris looked up, sniffling, and Mia continued. "But all of a sudden, I had Diego again. And nowadays... even though we can't see one another as often as we'd like... we're in love with the law, more than ever. Even if it reminds us of a very painful past, and even if..." She felt a shiver come over her, at the twin thoughts of Dahlia, still out there somewhere... and Redd White, always lurking somewhere she couldn't quite anticipate. "Even if it's dangerous."

There was a pause, as Iris drew back and reached into her sleeve for a tissue. She blew her nose with a most unladylike honk, making Mia laugh, and smiled tearfully. "But he's in danger if I love him. She'll kill him just to get at me."

Mia smiled. "Maybe. But don't you have faith that Phoenix can look out for himself? He looks healthy enough to wrestle alligators... and between you and me, men don't really like being told they need help with anything."

Iris choked on a laugh, and wiped the tears from her cheeks. "Oh, Mia," she said, her voice trembling. "How can I ever thank you?"

"_MIAAAAAAAA!__"_ came an exaggerated wail from a distant hallway, making them both jump. "Help meeeeeee! These bags are heavy!"

Mia couldn't help but laugh: Maya could be serious sometimes, but not when she was impatient for gossip, or what she thought was gossip. Iris was giggling too. As they hugged again briefly and moved toward the door to find her sister, Mia finally said, "You don't have to thank me, Iris. As soon as you're happy, I'll have my reward."


	16. New Defender

**Chapter Sixteen: New Defender**

* * *

><p>Mia reluctantly agreed to let Iris, who was firmly determined to do only what was best for Phoenix, go about reconnecting with him on her own. It was difficult to keep from gleefully spilling everything, though, when he walked in that Monday.<p>

A knock sounded on her office door just as she began cleaning off the front desk. Mia looked up to see Phoenix tentatively sticking his head around the door like an inquisitive lionfish. "I brought the interrogatory copy, Miss Fey. Any more paperwork?"

"Of course, there's always more paperwork," Mia said, and burst out laughing when his face lit up. His half-joking tone hadn't disguised the desperation beneath: obviously he had already quit at Grossberg's office. "You can come all the way in, you know. This desk is going to be yours once I finish getting these files into my office."

The paperwork in the front lobby area had gotten out of hand lately, and Mia swept a large pile of miscellaneous pre-trial materials into a large box, kicking them into the next room. "To be filed," she explained, and Phoenix finally grinned, coming into the room and looking around. She'd been in a hurry on Friday, and hadn't noticed just how badly he limped. "You said you brought the interrogatories?"

"Yup." He held out the almost-empty file, and Mia tossed it under the desk. "That attorney you sent me to was _not_ happy to see that, Miss Fey. I thought he was going to strangle me."

"Them's the breaks," said Mia cheerfully, rummaging in her file drawer, trying to find the office memorandum she'd wanted him to expand. "Maya thinks that civil trials are where people are civil to each other. Ha! Nothing could be further from the truth. Huh... what the hell did I do with that Kierkenstraad memo?"

"Kierkenstraad? You're defending that guy against Prosecutor Armando?" Phoenix asked, and Mia froze. "Wow, I'm sorry, Miss Fey."

She swallowed. It had been an utterly innocent remark: of course, he'd been working for Grossberg, who butted horns with Diego all the time and generally lost. But it hadn't really sunk in just yet that Phoenix might not remember Diego at all: he'd been half-conscious and dreadfully ill, if lucid, the last time they met. She got the distinct feeling that Phoenix would be more embarrassed about that night than even Diego was.

Mia shook herself, irritated at how easily she worried over nothing. "Well, here's your chance to shine, Wright. I've got that brief due in two days, and as you probably know, it's a hopeless case. I'll give you the original office memo I wrote myself, and you can use it to write the brief for me."

"Okay, Miss Fey," Phoenix said amicably. But curiously, he asked, "If it's hopeless, why'd you take it?"

_Because Diego is prosecuting_, Mia wanted to cry, fighting the urge to laugh and wave her wedding ring in his face. _Are you really that dumb?_ She took a deep breath and shrugged, trying her best to look neutral, and continued rummaging for the brief. "Why does anyone take a case? I mean, why did Mr. Grossberg take that Butz case you went to on Friday? And look how that turned out."

Phoenix turned an incredible shade of bright red, grinning at her sheepishly and rubbing the back of his head, reminding her for an instant of Detective Gumshoe. "Well... Mr. Grossberg took that case because I asked him to. Larry Butz is... well, Larry's an old friend of mine. He gets into trouble a lot, but he'd never murder anyone."

"Aha. Well, that was kind of you," Mia said sincerely, not terribly surprised to know that the foolish-looking young man she'd seen in Grossberg's company was a friend of Phoenix's. "Well, look: I'll dig up that brief for you on my computer, the hard copy seems to have gone missing. But in the meantime, would you mind doing a bit more running around? I mean... if you're up to it."

She hadn't meant it to come out so bluntly, but there it was. Phoenix blinked at her for a moment, confused. "Sure, I mean... I've worked at the courthouse before, and... oh. You mean that." The same expression came over his face as when she had mentioned Iris: wistful, disappointed, and a little bit grief-stricken. "Yeah, I'll be just fine, Miss Fey."

Silently, unsure how to smooth over the awkward blunder, Mia handed him a file. He nodded, and turned to go, but just as quickly turned back, with a more determined expression. "You... so, wait. You're defending that guy Kierkenstraad... but you prosecuted the municipal case against Mr. Grossberg's defendant, and you had me do plaintiff's interrogatories. But I remember Doll—er, Iris said that you... that you were a defense attorney. I didn't know you could do all that."

"What, prosecute and defend?" He nodded, and Mia restrained a laugh. She stood up, and came around the desk, perching on the edge of the desk. From this angle, she could see the flush spreading from his cheeks to his ears, and the proud tilt of his chin: she'd thoroughly embarrassed him by asking about his health. Presumably it was still a touchy subject.

Mia smiled at him, gratitude washing over her as she realized he was probably asking the question just to break the awkwardness. "Well, you're right. Most attorneys do pick one or another, although in my mind they're the same thing. Do you mind doing difficult defense work once in awhile?"

"Actually, I'd _rather_ do challenging cases," Phoenix said eagerly. Mia held out her hand, and when he looked at her blankly, she pointed at the file. "Oh!" He surrendered it a bit uncertainly, but when she dropped it into the file folder and snagged another, his face cleared.

He barely glanced at the contents before his eyes lit up in joy. "Is this a PCRA?"

"Yup," Mia answered, cheered that she'd guessed correctly. "No one knows, but besides arguing for the municipality, I occasionally do public work for the state. And the former attorney on this case screwed everything up. Think you could get it in order for me?"

Phoenix sighed in contentment, leafing through the post-conviction remedy file. _Iris was right_, Mia thought, marveling. _He really does love to help the helpless._ "Yeah, I'll start it right away! Thank you, Miss Fey! This is exactly what I love best."

"First, Wright," Mia said dryly, "stop calling me _Miss Fey_. Only Detective Gumshoe is allowed to do that. Pick any other form of address, or you're out the door as fast as you can say 'hemorrhoids,' young man. And second, you're welcome. Maybe by the time you pass the bar, you can just take over for me."

She was about to add that he reminded her exactly of herself four years ago: but was afraid it would sound patronizing. "Anyway, do me a favor and take it to the courthouse and get a praecipe for appearance filed: I'm court-appointed, so there's no charge. Then when you get back, read it over and tell me what you think."

"Okay, Chief," he said cheerfully, eyes still glued to the file.

One last thought occurred to Mia: she was keeping some seriously dangerous evidence in this office, and it was about time she sent it off with Maya. Usually she and Diego ended up taking her sister out to dinner when that happened, and perhaps there was an opportunity in that. "Phoenix?"

"Mm-hmm?" he said, reading the file distractedly as he walked towards the exit. She watched as he stopped just short of whacking his head off the lintel.

"Next week sometime I'll probably be taking my sister and a friend out to dinner. Would you like to come with us?"

Phoenix looked up at her and blinked, surprised. "Oh. Sure, Chief. Just let me know when." And with that he left, actually whistling, his head obviously crammed full of poor helpless criminal defendants, crying out to be decently represented in court.

Mia went back into her office and sat down, looking out the window. Had that been wise? _He's going to remember Diego sooner or later_, she thought, feeling her hands tremble. Either that, or he would notice her wedding ring, and Diego would kiss her in public again. It was only a matter of time before the truth became apparent: once Phoenix tied Diego to Mia, the next step was remembering the facility... and Dahlia.

But Mia knew, without even questioning, that she could trust Phoenix Wright not to be... well, not to be a douche about it. _Best to remind him now_, she thought, _and avoid making him even more uncomfortable._


	17. One Last Night

**Chapter Seventeen: One Last Night**

* * *

><p>It ended up being almost a month before Mia could arrange for her sister to take the evidence. "<em>What with Aunt Morgan being sick<em>," Maya had explained, sounding more grown-up than ever, _"they really need me to help with the tea harvesting this year. I've just got to teach little Pearly how the process works!_"

Mia laughed to herself in a low voice, remembering her sister's pride, and shivered deliciously as Diego put his lips to her throat. "What's so funny, Kitten?"

Mia opened her eyes and smiled at the top of his tousled head. "Maya. Oooh, stop that. She called tonight, when I was on my way ov—errrrrrrr..."

Now it was Diego's turn to laugh, as she collapsed into his arms. Mia writhed, wanting to purr as he nibbled his way up her neck. "I love the noises you make, Kitten. So. What'd she say?"

"E-every other word was _burger_," Mia managed to say, before arching her neck. He delved lower; the window was open to let in the delightfully humid night air, and both of them were comfortably sheened in sweat after the activities of the last few hours. She squeaked a little as his beard rasped against her delicate skin, his hands tightening in the small of her back.

"Sounds like Maya," he murmured in amusement, the words vibrating against her skin. "Not to change the subject, but... how is it that we've made love four hundred times, and I come away wanting you more every single night?"

Several rude answers popped to mind, but Mia wouldn't have said them for the world. All the sarcasm and teasing vanished from their relationship when they shared a bed. And despite his bravado, Diego's health was unstable enough that treating him badly today could mean regret the next. Dahlia's poison, as he put it, had done a real number on his body. "Well, I do too," she finally said, quite truthfully, and felt his smile curve against her breast.

Diego was different ever since the poisoning, and more than just physically. Over the ensuing years, Mia had realized just how much he'd changed: no one else would have noticed. More arrogant than ever, he nevertheless treated her like a precious queen; passionate to the point of infuriating daftness, he played practical jokes on his office colleagues (superiors and subordinates alike), but had limped around for weeks after quite literally taking a running leap in front of a taxi to save a child.

It was, Mia decided, as if her husband existed solely on a plane of raw emotion. He yelled and threw cups of coffee and briskly mouthed off at the judge in court, but insisted upon donating blood every fifty-four days exactly, and breathed poetry and danced the tango when he took Mia on dates. He'd always had a fiery personality, but there were no in-betweens in his life anymore.

"You're my fire and ice," she murmured fervently, wishing there were a better way to explain.

He raised his head, dark eyes gleaming in the moonlight from outside, and smiled, resting his chin between her breasts. "So you'll either be consumed, or I'll melt into you."

There were a lot of smug responses to that, too, but Mia just smiled. "Or both." He turned his head with a sigh of satisfaction, resting his cheek on her collarbone, and she asked softly, "Do you think we're ready to go further than love?"

She wondered momentarily why she'd asked: the idea had never even occurred to her before. Silence reigned for a bit, and she waited breathlessly to see what he would say.

Finally, he said, very quietly, "Yes. Without a doubt. The thought of creating life with you is so beautiful it hurts. I'd just be... afraid."

"Of what?" she asked, startled. Of all the reactions she'd expected, fear had been the last. "Don't worry, we won't turn into a bickering old couple the second we have a kid. I know it'll be tough with being sort of secret about our marriage, but we could move this time, get different jobs."

He shook his head, raising up on one elbow next to her. Watching his eyes, she felt his finger trace her navel. It was so odd: most people who went blind eventually lost the ability to express themselves through their eyes, but not Diego. His dark gaze was precise and warm when unmasked, as if to make up for being hidden under red lights all day. Now his eyes looked worried, an unusual expression. "Not that. I'd go through hell and back for you, Mia Fey, but I'm not sure if I could live to watch you suffer."

Other women might have laughed; Mia was tempted to cry at the sweetness of it. "Oh, Diego," she said softly. "You're a little bit crazy, you know that? It's not the eighteenth century. I'll be cranky and fat for nine months, then they'll dope me up for a few hours while I yell and huff and push. It's not suffering, it's motherhood."

He looked doubtful, but shrugged and bent to kiss her. His fingers trailed lower, and as he leaned closer to her, he murmured, "If you want it... I can't think of anything else in the world I want more."

"Don't stop to think, then," she whispered, and wrapped her legs around him.


	18. Danger Returns

**Chapter 18: Danger Returns**

* * *

><p>Maya's voice trembled with excitement. "You mean," she said, fists clenched, "I... I can take your old car by myself?"<p>

Mia laughed. "Yes. Just promise—"

"Yay! Oh my gosh, yay!" Maya squealed, and jumped at her for a hug. Mia's breath came out a _whoof_, but she laughed breathlessly, hugging her sister back.

"Just be careful," she said when she could speak again, trying to sound as stern as possible. "You've only just got your license, and I don't want to see all of Diego's driving lessons vanishing in a poof of smoke if you get pulled over. Or worse yet, if you wreck my old baby."

"I won't, I won't," protested Maya, taking the car keys with a certain amount of reverence, even awe.

Mia remembered the first time she'd driven a car by herself, all those years ago. The lessons taken despite Aunt Morgan's disapproval... the joy of being able to take the village's single car out for grocery trips instead of lugging bags back on the train... yes, she knew exactly how Maya felt.

She held out a sticky note. "Here's Phoenix's cell phone number, in case you get lost. Just pick him up and come right back. No ice cream, no pit stops, do not pass Go or collect two hundred dollars."

"Fine, fine! Sheesh, Sis," Maya said cheerfully, backing towards the doorway with her shiny new license clutched in one hand. "You make Aunt Morgan look like fun. Ahhh, kidding! Kidding!" she cried as Mia pretended to whack her with a brief, and slipped out the door with a huge grin.

Still laughing, Mia went back into her own dark office, peeking out the window to see if Diego had arrived yet. No, there was no sign of his blue sports car anywhere on the curb below. Mia watched as her old car peeled away from the curb in a cloud of burning rubber, and shook her head. She hadn't really bought a new car because Maya had finally gotten her driver's license, but... she didn't feel like taking a car with giant dents in the side to respectable municipal meetings.

She sat in her desk chair, fingering Charley's leaves as the laughter at Maya faded and her nerves began to sing. _Stop it, girl_, she thought with annoyance, feeling her heart thud. _There's no reason to be nervous. You trust Phoenix almost like family, anyway. _She would trust him further than her Aunt Morgan, that was for sure.

Mia heard the office door open and close again, and called out, "What did you forget now, Maya?"

She stood up, expecting Maya to sarcastically quip something in the same moment as she realized Maya had just driven away in her car: and it was a man's tall shadow that darkened her doorway. Mia opened her mouth to exclaim Diego's name, but froze, realizing with a rush of terror that it wasn't him, either. Faintly, she heard the sound of an engine, revving in the street below, and far away, the wail of a police siren.

"Now, Miss Fey," said a quiet, gleeful voice. "I'll take what's mine. The papers, please."


	19. In the Nick of Time

**Chapter Nineteen: In the Nick of Time**

* * *

><p>Phoenix Wright stood on the curb, looking around and biting his lip nervously. He'd only met the Chief's little sister a few times at the courthouse, and although he'd liked her—how could you <em>not<em> like someone so determinedly cheerful?—it was still kind of awkward. He really would have preferred to take the bus. But it wasn't his dinner date, so he'd agreed to be picked up.

The squeal of tires caught his attention, and a rather disreputable-looking sedan veered around the street corner to his left, practically tipping over as its driver frantically worked the steering wheel. It peeled up to the curb where he stood, too frozen in fright to jump back, and screeched to a halt.

The window was rolled down, and Mia's little sister leaned across the passenger seat to unlock the door. "Hiya, Nick!" she said cheerfully, apparently oblivious to the smell of burning tire tracks. "Hop on in!"

"Do I have to?" he muttered to himself, and opened the door. Horrendously aware of his stiff right leg, Phoenix got in carefully, his knees almost touching the dashboard. He barely had time to buckle in before the girl checked her mirrors and pulled out, honking at an oncoming car who got in her way.

"Go fly a kite!" she yelled gleefully out her window, and ran a yellow light. "So! Nick. Sorry about the crazy driving. Sis drives a stick shift, which is totally cool, but I learned how to drive in a _real_ sports car. I may or may not snap the clutch cable at some point."

"Oh," was all Phoenix could think to say, as he clutched the armrest and watched an ambulance wail by in the opposite direction. His knees bashed against the glove compartment as the girl whipped the car around a right turn in second gear, and he saw stars for a moment. "H-how far away is the restaurant?" he ventured, trying to blink away the tears of pain.

"Huh? Restaurant? Nah, we're meeting at Mia's office first," her little sister sang. Phoenix wanted to groan: it was only another ten blocks, then. He could easily have just walked. "Hey, look! A kitty! Watch out, kitty-kitty!"

_Please, God, not tonight: I want to live!_ Phoenix found himself praying desperately, as the car swerved to avoid the cat, which stalked away with its tail magnificently curved. They negotiated a few more crowded stoplights, raced through several intersections, barely brushed the paintwork of three parked cars, and once again screeched to a halt, jerking Phoenix against his seat belt.

He sat, trying to remember how to breathe, as Maya cheerfully exclaimed, "Aww, Diego beat me back! And stole my space!" Vaguely Phoenix watched as she jumped from the car, slammed the door, and slapped her hand against the hood of a sleek, dark blue car parked in front of the building which housed Fey & Co. Law Offices. "C'mon, Nick! Burgers await!"

_Burgers?_ he thought vaguely, and unbuckled his seat belt with trembling hands. Mia had definitely said something about a restaurant, but Phoenix remembered her also mentioning that her little sister had a fetish for cheeseburgers.

It took him a minute to struggle out of the passenger's seat, and as he closed the door, Maya jingled her keys impatiently. "Sorry," Phoenix said, feeling absurd and regretting having said he'd come.

"Pssh," the girl said. Phoenix kept his eyes on the ground as he came up the front stairs, his leg throbbing with every halting step. Maya's voice sounded a little embarrassed as she added, "Are you all right? I guess I still need practice. It took me forever to get a driver's license, Sis says I'm careless."

He looked up to see her red-faced and chagrined. Taking the half-apology for what it was, Phoenix grinned at her, pausing at the top of the steps, and was glad to see her smile back tentatively. "Hey, I can't judge. I don't even _have_ a driver's license."

"Bor-ing," she announced, regaining her composure, and opened the front door with a flourish. "Come on, Nick, I'll race you to the elevator!"

* * *

><p>With that awkwardness stripped nude and promptly ridiculed, Phoenix found himself liking Mia's little sister quite a lot. She had the Chief's colorful way with words, just none of the filter that came with age. And he couldn't get over her ridiculous outfit: as she chattered during the elevator ride, he watched the bobbles in her hair dance back and forth, the huge pink bow tied at her waist wiggling as she jumped up and down to make the lights flicker.<p>

"And that's why you should _never_ feed a turtle soy milk," she told him solemnly, looking at him from under her black fringe of hair. The door dinged, and she danced out backwards. "Poor little guy, he was sick for a week."

Someone was repainting the walls in the hallway, paint cans and poles strewn everywhere. "Look out for the ladder, Maya," Phoenix said, amused.

She glanced behind her, and hopped to one side, grinning. "It's a _step_-ladder, Nick. Anyway, I'm not clumsy like some—eek!"

The paint in the can Maya had tripped on sloshed with a _bwoinnnng_ as she went down in a flurry of purple robes. Phoenix felt himself blushing, and tried not to look at her skinny bare legs as he stepped forward to help. She unselfconsciously whooped with laughter as she grabbed his proffered hand and jumped to her feet, yanking down her clothes.

"Fine, maybe I am clumsy," Maya finally admitted with a grin, flipping her hair flamboyantly and sweeping ahead with great dignity. She knocked on the frosted-glass door of Fey & Co. "Hey, Sis, we're heeeere!"

There was no answer at first, as Maya pushed open the door to the Chief's lobby; suddenly Phoenix heard a man's voice, grunting and shouting (no, there were _two_ voices), and his heart dropped into his stomach.

Maya's eyes suddenly grew huge, and she ran into the office. "M-Mia?" came her tremulous voice. Phoenix followed, limping as fast as he could into the lobby, but he heard Maya scream before he saw what was happening in Mia's office.

* * *

><p>Two figures grappled wildly, lunging and bashing against furniture in the darkened room, one striking out with fists and the other willing only to wrestle. A dark figure lay on the floor under the window, unmoving. Phoenix gaped as the streetlight gleamed off of white hair, and he recognized Prosecutor Armando's visor lying shattered on the floor.<p>

"Ha!" gasped the other man, a stranger, whose back was to Phoenix, but who could see Maya by twisting his head. "The sister has arrifivied! Tell me, Mr. Armando... now what will you do?"

"Maya! Call an ambulance!" said his adversary through clenched teeth, lunging to hold the stranger.

"Mia! _Sis_!" the girl sobbed, trying to go around the desk, but blocked by the two men. Phoenix, his eyes finally adjusting to the light, realized it was the Chief lying under the window, her long limbs askew.

"Let me go," howled the pink-jacketed stranger triumphantly, "and I shall kill your lover's sister! But don't... and she'll die herself!"

Suddenly, all Phoenix could remember was that dark, panicked night in the witness-protection facility. He'd only been half-conscious in the darkness, and remembered almost nothing but the fear, and gratitude towards a nameless stranger who had helped him: except Phoenix had read a very important case file a few days before, and could now put a name to that face. _He was Mia's co-counsel in the Fawles case, he saved me from Dahlia, and now he's trying to save Mia._

Without quite knowing what he was doing, Phoenix picked up his crutch and held it like a baseball bat. "Oh, what the hell," he muttered, and felt something in his bad knee pop as he whipped the crutch around, bashing it into the stranger's head.

In the ensuing silence, a faint scream sounded from outside the window. As the man's eyes rolled up in his head and he dropped to the floor like a rock, Phoenix found his trembling fingers already dialing nine-one-one on the office phone, and he struggled to stand on one leg, feeling absurdly like a stork.

He reached out and snagged Maya, pulling her against him, as Armando stumbled uncertainly to the still form under the window, cursing aloud and flinging himself to his knees next to the Chief (heedless of the glass crunching below) and began resuscitation. Mia's little sister sobbed and clutched Phoenix as he spoke into the phone. It all felt like a horrible, horrible movie.

"Hello? This is an emergency—we need an ambulance and the police, _right now_."


	20. Reunited

**Chapter Twenty: Reunited**

* * *

><p>Phoenix stood in the cold, dark hallway for as long as he could, watching through the window, until his leg started to tremble and give way. He finally had to turn and collapse into the chair again. Maya's sobbing voice went on and on behind the window, over the soft beeping of the life-support machines. Phoenix leaned his head back against the wall, colors whirling behind his eyelids.<p>

Only family members were allowed into the room, which he'd only found out _after_ he'd been given a shot of morphine, had managed to escape from the critical-care unit, and had sweet-talked a nurse named Jackie into letting him through the neurology wing. _So what good am I doing here?_ Phoenix thought dizzily, glad that he'd at least bothered to put on his shirt and tie again, even if he'd forgotten the suit jacket downstairs. _Neither of them know I'm here, and Mia...oh, Chief._

The thought of her made him want to throw up, and Phoenix leaned forward with a groan. He felt like he might keel over and die from the pain in his leg, which had been broken long ago, in an unremembered hospital mishap (he suspected now that it might have been the night Dahlia came to kill him), and had never fully healed. But he wanted to die even more from the agony in his heart.

He'd been sitting outside Mia's room for fifteen minutes now, and neither Maya nor Armando had noticed his presence, one talking and sobbing next to her sister's bed, the other sitting like a statue, head bowed. Suddenly Phoenix couldn't stand it anymore, and lurched up, a hand against the wall for balance as he fitted his arm into the new crutch, one of a pair they'd left in his room. His last one was somewhere in police evidence, dented by Redd White's thick (and unfortunately, still living) head.

He had no idea where he'd go. The hallway probably wasn't that dark, he decided: there were little nightlights running all the way down the floor and the ceiling. It was just that his vision kept fading in and out, as the morphine alternately worked and didn't work. He had to stop more than once, leaning against the wall and breathing like a freight train.

Finally he reached the doors, and pushed through them, feeling a bead of sweat drip down his nose. The nurse he'd talked into letting him through looked up from her station, and leapt to her feet, wispy blonde hair flying. "Oh, honey! You sit your butt down, right now!"

Phoenix let his eyes close for a moment as Jackie grabbed his arms, and helped him sit down in one of the lobby chairs. "Just sit there for a minute," he heard her say; his whole leg was now radiating fire from ankle to hip, the pressure points of the brace burning worse than anything else. He wondered how bad it would be without the morphine.

"We'll get you back downstairs as soon as I can call for a chair," the nurse continued, and he heard the beep of buttons being pushed.

"No," he said abruptly, opening his eyes. She was already back behind her desk, but she dropped the phone and leaped up again as he tried to struggle to his feet. "No, please—I'm fine. Please let me just stay here. I'll just sit here, I promise," he said, desperately.

The nurse bit her lip, looking at him. Phoenix smiled wanly, and tried in vain to look as alert and healthy as possible, feeling his heart whanging away. "Well... okay," Jackie finally said, warily. "But you're not going back in there until—"

The door on the other side of the nurse's station burst open, and a flurry of voices rushed through. Phoenix heard the clatter of high-heeled shoes on the tile, and looked in astonishment at the familiar figure trying to keep ahead of what appeared to be herd of nurses.

"Dollie?" he said, astonished, and stood up without thinking.

The room whirled again, but suddenly a pair of arms was around him; he hugged her back, the familiar scent of soap and lavender steadying him. "Oh, Feenie," she cried, pressing her face into his chest and sobbing.

After a moment, he realized that he probably shouldn't be standing, and that the hands of nurses were trying to separate them. "Dollie," he said quietly, trying to think of how to explain. "This is Dollie, leave her alone, she won't go anywhere."

"She's not allowed up here," said the stern voice of another nurse, and he felt her shoulders being pulled away from him. "She didn't bother to get a visitor's pass."

Phoenix opened his eyes and glared at them. There were only three nurses, after all, one who looked like a kindly grandmother, a tall man with a shaved head, and then Jackie. "This is my girlfriend. She's not going to cause trouble," he explained slowly and clearly. "Her cousin might be dying in there. I've got a hospital bracelet, just pretend she's visiting me, too."

The two nurses who had been pursuing Dollie exchanged a glance, and the man let go of her shoulders. Phoenix knew he looked like hell, dark circles under his eyes and a scratch from Maya's barrette down one stubbled cheek: but maybe the dangerous aspect worked to his advantage. "Okay," said the plump nurse, shaking her head. Her nametag said _Florence. _"But it's on your head."

"Fine with me," Phoenix said agreeably, and felt Dollie's arms tighten around him as she sniffled into his crumpled tie. When the two other nurses finally left, and Jackie settled for fixing a close eye on him from behind her desk, Phoenix whispered, "I need to sit down."

"I'm sorry," came the instant rejoinder, and he was released.

Suddenly Phoenix realized he'd stupidly been thinking of her by the wrong name this whole time. He sat down in the chair too quickly, practically collapsing into it. "Feenie! Phoenix, are you okay?" Iris cried.

"I'm fine," he said, tired of lying but unable to think of what else to say. Iris tentatively sat next to him, and he took her hand, closing his eyes and trying to think of anything but his right leg. When he focused on her little fingers, clutching his tightly, it helped a little. "They gave me a shot of morphine, so I'm a little woozy. I'll be all right if I stop doing stupid things, like jumping up and down and fending off angry nurses."

Iris gave a little sob of laughter, and he looked over at her; tears were running unheeded down her face, her disheveled hair hanging down. "Oh, Iris," he said quietly, and turned, reaching to gather her in against him. "I'm so sorry."

She resisted at first, but gave in and cuddled against him eventually, warm and slender in his arms as she cried in earnest. Phoenix rested his cheek on top of her head; it was so perfectly familiar, yet strange. He hadn't even spoken to her for almost three years, but here she was, just like the old days, like nothing had changed.

Confusion blocked his ability to say anything: wasn't she Dollie, though? He'd never known the real Dahlia, so why couldn't Iris be Dollie, just to him? _Great... the morphine is making me philosophical, _Phoenix thought miserably, and hugged her closer.

* * *

><p>When Iris felt calm enough to talk, she explained that Morgan Fey had called Hazakura, demanding to know where Maya Fey had gone. "I knew something was wrong, if Maya hadn't come back to Kurain without telling her aunt," Iris said, trying to sniff back the panic. "So I called Mia's phone," she finished quaveringly, "and Detective Gumshoe answered. He said someone tried to k-kill her."<p>

She could hardly believe how terrible Phoenix looked despite what was obviously very good health: his face had aged ten years since the last time she'd seen him, his eyes grave. "Yeah. It was a man named Redd White," he said, forcibly neutral. Iris craned her neck to judge his expression. It was tight, but she couldn't tell if that was from anger or pain. She knew his right leg, the one he wore a brace on, gave him trouble, and he seemed to favor it. Phoenix added, "I guess he'd been blackmailing a bunch of people through his company, Bluecorp, and Mia found out. So he tried to get rid of her."

Redd... White... Blue... why did that sound so familiar? Iris couldn't remember where she'd met the man. But it didn't seem important. He'd been arrested, the detective had said. "I guess he'll go to jail," Iris said, privately thinking that she couldn't care less what happened to him, if Mia made it through the night.

Phoenix muttered something that sounded like, "Yeah, if I have anything to do with it." Iris tightened her arms around him, and snugged her nose into his tie again. They were silent for awhile, his heartbeat slowing to a metronome pace, solid and safe beneath her cheek.

Iris wished it could stay this way forever: she had no idea how to apologize to him, and couldn't tell if he was just being kind to her, or if he really wanted to be sitting like this, comforting her as he'd done so many times. What had she done by refusing to see him? Had he thought it was because she didn't love him?

Then she remembered how he'd said fiercely, "_This is my girlfriend_," and her heart rose, aflutter. Iris sat up a little, and asked, "Phoenix?"

He opened his eyes and smiled at her: it was a grief-stricken and exhausted smile, but it came with the same warm light in his eyes that she'd fallen in love with all those years ago. "Yes?"

She wasn't sure what she'd really wanted to ask, but words found their way out nonetheless. "I'm so sorry. You don't deserve this—any of it."

The corner of his mouth twitched. "I could take that one of several ways," he said wryly, "but if you're apologizing for Dahlia, I'd prefer you don't start that again. It wasn't your fault."

"No, I meant me." Iris put her hand on his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart again. She tried not to look into his eyes, but found it impossible, his calm gaze holding hers. "I left you hanging. You kept writing letters for two whole years, and I never wrote back. And now, even Mia could tell you missed me, but... I just thought..."

The thought of Mia was so agonizing that she couldn't think straight, and she trailed off, unable to explain what she'd thought. Iris stared at the dim blue lights of the hallway. Was it that he couldn't help but hate her? That he would always be loving a stranger?

He just looked down at her, and finally he shrugged, a little sheepishly. "You're my Dollie," he said, so quietly that she almost couldn't hear. "I know it's not your name, but... I don't care who she was, or is. I love _you_, the sweet person who got me through midterms and made me lunch every day and knitted me a bright pink sweater while writing haiku."

He bent his head to press his lips to hers, and Iris closed her eyes, every happy memory she'd ever had flooding back, their tears mingling and giving that little bit of salty sweetness to the kiss.


End file.
